


Strength

by Cyberrat



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 112,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberrat/pseuds/Cyberrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock gets captured by an alien ship and tortured in front of the bridge crew. How is one supposed to overcome something that intense and violent? How will the crew of the Enterprise deal with the shocking pictures they had to witness? Everyone seems to realise the importance of one another. Especially the Captain and his First Officer are struggling to come to terms with who they are.<br/>--------<br/>Please read the first few chapters with caution.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сила](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314522) by [Nagini_snake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagini_snake/pseuds/Nagini_snake)



> I've started posting my stories a little in backwards order. This here is the first I wrote for this fandom (not the first in general, though it had been a few years since I last wrote anything by that point).
> 
> The first few chapters are quite short and trigger-y; but if you're willing to stay through them, there is plenty of healing and thinking-thoughty-thoughts ahead, so... yes^^
> 
> Also: this has never been beta-read. I went through it at one time and plucked the errors out that I could find, BUUUUT: English isn't my first language and some aspects I wasn't taught (though I diligently immerse myself in the language), so there is that^^

The atmosphere on the bridge of the Enterprise was thick. Captain Kirk’s fingers were white from the pressure of the deathgrip he had on the armrests of his chair. Behind him, he could hear Lieutenant Uhura sob quietly into the sleeve of her uniform, because she had no tissue.

The air was almost too hot to breathe – at least in Kirk’s opinion. He had to forcibly drag the air into his lungs, but it seemed that it rushed uselessly out of his body as soon as another violent _smack_ echoed throughout the bridge.

Everyone’s eyes were fixed onto the viewscreen which didn’t show the vast, dark void of space and its pinpricks of glistening stars or the round body of another planet. It showed the bridge of another spaceship. An Andorian spaceship to be precise. The skin of its inhabitants glowed eerily from the dark environment and the near black garments they were wearing.

However, Kirk had no eyes for the blue skin or the crisp, white hair or the twitching antennae. His gaze was riveted on the figure in the middle of the foreign bridge.

Another _smack_ and his stomach gave an almost painful lurch. He could hear heavy, liquid breathing over the speakers and knew that they were coming from the victim of the Andorians. The man that was currently kneeling naked, bound and bleeding on the cold, rough surface of the starship. The man that was repeatedly violated by three Andorians who had to beat him into a semblance of submission first and then drug him, so he wasn’t able to use his telepathic abilities. Spock.

 

An almost silent grunt was heard and the Andorian threw his head back. His grip on Spock’s hips was murderous. A few seconds later he withdrew with a second grunt and started to fasten his trousers. Kirk felt the acid in his stomach well up his oesophagus, as he witnessed the slow trickle of blood and semen from the raw, abused orifice down the trembling, white thighs of his first officer. He couldn’t see Spocks face, but he was certain with a grim satisfaction, that the Vulcan was showing his usual mask. At least these bastards wouldn’t get the satisfaction to see what they were doing to the psyche of their victim.

The view of the trembling body was blocked by the face of the Andorian leader. He didn’t even know his name. This whole ordeal was so... pointless.

“Captain Kirk.” The bright eyes seemed no longer not only cold but almost lifeless. They studied him without passion and skimmed over the rest of the silent, sickened crew currently on the bridge of the Enterprise.

“Give us what we want or the Vulcan will have to endure further... attention from my guards. You don’t want that, do you? Just give us the medicine, you can have him back and we’ll be on our way. Happy faces all around.” Pale blue lips twitched slightly in amusement, while his antennae softly swung from side to side.

Kirks right hand curled into a fist and he closed his eyes. How could it have come to this? How could he not have sensed the danger that was emanating from the new Andorian crewmember and his fascination with the Vulcan? How could he not have realised that it wasn’t a mere crush – which the crew of the Enterprise jokingly called it – but the cold calculation of a spy that had seen the weak spot of the bravest and most fearless Captain of Starfleet and tried to discern a way to get to his intended victim? And how – how! – could he ever look into the soft, brown eyes of his first officer again, after he repeatedly refused the demands of the Andorians and brought with his stubbornness wave after wave of pain and humiliation over the gentle creature?

But what was he supposed to do? They couldn’t give the medicine to the Andorians. It was needed by the Mektorians. They had to have the precious cargo or else thousands of people would die.

“Captain...” whispered the soft voice of Uhura behind him. How should his loyal crew deal with the atrocities they had witnessed these past hours? This wasn’t a stranger on the bridge of the Andorians – which would have been bad enough. But it was someone they all knew. Someone they all worked with. Someone so gentle and caring that it perverted this act so much more; that it made Kirks head pound in agony. It was Spock cowering on the bridge of the enemy ship. Spock with countless wounds. Spock with semen and blood dripping down his legs.

The Andorian Commander waited patiently. He had a superior smirk on his blue lips and his head wasn’t steady. It seemed that he was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Kirk hit the button to communicate with the engineering department.

“Mr. Scott.” He didn’t have to say more than that. The voice of the engineer almost instantly answered.

“Aye Captain. I’m still working. Their shields are like nothing I’ve ever seen. I’m – “

“I want him back, Scott,” was the simple answer. Kirks voice was hoarse and soft. A few seconds silence and then: “Aye sir.”

The Andorian said nothing. His smirk grew slightly to a bigger smile. He seemed to be bouncing more enthusiastically. He was self assured.

Kirk’s stomach twisted in rage and hate. He wanted to seize the blue head and pound it into the nearest surface until it was nothing more but a bloody, messy pulp. He wanted to rip apart the other Andorians that had been violating Spock repeatedly. He wanted to –

“I’m waiting, Captain. What shall it be? Medicine or more... fun?”

Kirk jumped up from his chair. His chin was stubbornly thrust forward.

“I want to trade places.”

“That was not an option.”

“I want to trade places.”

The Andorian stared at the famous Captain of the Enterprise and seemed to ponder this new development as a new voice interrupted.

Spock hadn’t said one word since the viewscreen had flickered on and shown his vulnerable body crouching on the bridge. His head had been stubbornly raised but he didn’t so much as moan. No matter what these bastards had done to him. Now he spoke and his voice was a liquid gurgle in the silence of both bridges, “No, Captain. There is no need to compromise the mission further. Please... just... leave.”

Kirk winced. The pauses were highly uncharacteristic and made him shiver. He opened his mouth to protest but Spock spoke again, “The Mektorians need the medicine...”

Kirk curled his hands into fists.

“We won’t leave without my First Officer.”

The lips of the Andorian curled into a slow, evil smile.

“It seems we have come to a stalemate. How about a little... help for the decision?”

He swivelled his head around and barked something that Kirk could not understand. Then he stepped out of the screen and Kirk could see one of the guards walking up to the kneeling Vulcan. He had a thick steel pipe in his hands and an ugly grin on his face.

Kirk felt a cold shiver running down his spine and a red haze clouded his vision.


	2. Chapter 2

The Andorian with the steel pipe slowly made his way in a lazy circle around his victim. The thick instrument dangled carelessly from his fist while he observed the laboured up and down of the broad back.

The Vulcan was kneeling, his forehead nearly on the floor and his hands bound with thin wires on the small of his back. The wires had dug deep into the ivory skin where the alien had struggled against the restraints. The Andorian came to a stop in front of the cowering man and looked down onto the glistening cap of dark hair. The tips of the pointed ears were just visible in the dim light. He brought the pipe under Spock’s chin and used it to tilt the head upwards. The dark brown eyes were, due to the effect of the serum they had injected him with, not able to hide the exotic mixture of hate, disgust and – yes, there it was – fear. 

“Scream, Vulcan. Let your Captain know, that we're not joking,” he advised with a low voice. It was almost intimate, like the poisoned caress of a lover. Spock’s face scrunched up in rebellion and he pressed his lips into a thin line. 

To be stripped of his mental shields was almost unbearable. The knowledge that the bridge of the Enterprise – the people he saw on a daily basis – witnessed his humiliation was terrifying. The thought of his Captain... Kirk... Jim... seeing the abuse... never before was the instinct of curling together into a tight and invisible ball so strong. And yet it were exactly these things that kept him clutching onto his fleeting strength as his most precious possession. He simply could not let his captors win. The mere fact that he let himself be ambushed by the spy of the Andorian crew and let himself get dragged into this whole unholy mess was a massive dent in his honour. It made his stomach heave in pain.   
Spock stared stubbornly into the eyes of the Andorian and kept his silence. Even as the pipe was brought down onto the side of his skull and collided with a sickening crack that indicated the damage to his jaw, he only bit into his tongue. He kept silent as his body crumpled onto the floor. 

He wanted to open his mouth in order to breath a ragged, liquid breath, but his broken jaw just fell open without his doing and a wave of sticky, green blood flooded the dark ground of the unfamiliar bridge. He was dizzy. He could hear garbled speech but was unable to discern the words. His whole body was aching and he had no mind techniques to aid him. 

Spock scrunched his eyes tightly shut as the pipe was rammed into his vulnerable, soft stomach. Survival instinct seemingly from way back of the feral ways of ancient Vulcan kicked in and he tried to protect his tender organs with knees and legs, rolling in on himself in some kind of foetal position that was somehow hindered by his bound arms.

 

Kirk was prowling the bridge like a caged tiger. His shirt was drenched in sweat on his back and he had his hands curled into tight fists, so that the short fingernails dug into the skin of his palms. He heard the sickening sound of the steel pipe connecting with flesh and bone and was nearly ready to crawl through the communications system to Scotty and viciously shake him until the Chief Engineer provided him with some means to get onto this God forsaken ship.

“Why do you want the medicine?! The Mektorians are going to _die_ if they don’t get it in time. Don’t you understand?” he hissed.

The leader of the Andorians once again stepped into view, while his guard in the background was prowling once more around the wounded Vulcan. He was obviously contemplating a way to get a reaction out of the stubborn man.

‘You just hang in there, Mr. Spock. Great man. Great, stubborn, unbelievable man,’ the Captain thought before levelling his stare onto the blue skinned alien.

“Oh we understand, Captain. I had thought it was obvious that this is exactly what our intention is.” The Andorian grinned and stared at Kirk with contemplating eyes.

“We do not have to explain ourselves to the likes of you. We – “

They were interrupted by a commotion in the background. The guard prowling the Vulcan had underestimated the seemingly helpless victim. Spock had watched the circling legs and waited until the best moment to kick his folded legs out and swipe the Andorian from his feet.

A creaking, snapping sound preceded the release of the pale hands. Spock had obviously gathered his last remaining strength and broken free from the constricting wires. In the stunned silence of the enemy bridge where the aliens stood and watched in dumb stupor the prisoner breaking free, Spock lunged at the dazed guard on the floor and wrapped his hands around the blue neck.

Kirk felt both aghast and elated from the sight. The knowledge that Spock was too stubborn to let himself be broken warred with the horrifying reality of a Vulcan stripped from all his mental shields and being left as nothing more than a feral beast. A creature set to survival. 

In the ensuing scrabble as the Andorians finally shook of their stupor, the communications link in Kirk’s chair whistled.

“Captain. I got it.”

“I’m coming, Scotty.”

He ran from the bridge under the sounds of screams and scrabbling, like the devil himself was on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said... the chapters are going to get longer in a short while


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be cautious - graphic violence in this chapter

Uhura didn’t even realise that her feet had moved, until she stood at the navigation console between Sulu and Chekov. The dark skinned woman brought her hands up to her mouth, while the big, dark eyes were watching horrified as the Andorians overpowered their First Officer and drugged him with yet another substance. The guard with the steel pipe that had been attacked by the Vulcan, struggled coughing and spluttering to its feet.

He screamed something in the Andorian language and Uhura almost cursed her brain for automatically translating the harsh command, “Hold him! Hold his arms out! I’m going to teach him... I’m going to...”

The guard was lifting the steel pipe with both arms high over his head while the other captors wrestled the still struggling, feral Vulcan into some kind of submission. His arms were stretched out before him, the long slender hands pressed to the floor. The pale fingers scrabbled on the slick surface in his struggle to break free.

As the pipe swished down and connected with full impact to the dexterous, fragile bones it was not only Spock that screamed in pure agony; Uhura’s terrified and sympathetic scream echoed right along with it.

She smudged her already smeared make-up across her face as she brought her hands up to cover her eyes. Her lungs seemed no longer able to process the air, while she had to listen to the animal-like screams from Spock and the sound of steel on flesh and bone over and over again. Uhura felt dizzy.

 

Later – much, much later – Lieutenant Uhura would be standing in her little bathroom in front of the mirror. She would be washing her smeared face and staring into it. It would be deathly pale under her normally chocolate brown skin, but she would not be able to see it.

All she could see was the battered body of her First Officer and friend. The atrocities these... these... savages did to him. Tears would leak unnoticed from her eyes, as she remembered the violation of one of her dearest comrades as if she herself had been subjected to it.

Uhura would not be able to hear the streaming of the water in the basin or how the ship’s computer shut down the flow in order to preserve the precious liquid. She would already just be standing on the spot grabbing the edge of the sink with her fingers until the knuckles were white and strained and staring into her dark, frightened eyes while only hearing Spock’s screams.

These screams –she knew it in her heart – would accompany her for a long time to come.

Spock had not screamed while the guards forced themselves on him over and over. He had not screamed while they had savagely beaten him. But he did scream – oh _God_ did he scream – as the pipe was brought down again and again onto his vulnerable hands. Tearing flesh and muscle tissue, shattering bones; destroying the flexible, long digits.

A tight sob would escape the normally cheerful woman and she would be forced onto her knees on the cold tiles of her bathroom floor from the sheer brutal memories of this horrifying day. Uhura simply could not shut out the ragged screams of Spock. Never before had she heard this gentle, quiet man scream and she prayed that she would never again hear it.

She would think of the bloody mess at the end of his arms and would pray that all the rumours about the sensitivity of Vulcan hands were exaggerated. Prayed, that the silent, gentle man would soon once again play his Vulcan harp while she sung.

But she would know deep inside that her prayers were in vain.

 

Right now, however, Lieutenant Uhura wasn’t in her bathroom and she wasn’t contemplating the sheer monstrosity that had unfolded – because she was still in the middle of it and unable to end it. She watched numb and almost lifeless inside as the bridge of the foreign ship was caught in the bright light of several members of the Enterprise beaming on board. She could just make out Captain Kirks form in the front as the Commander of the Andorians screamed hectic orders and the video was – finally – shut down along with all other channels.

The silence that suddenly enveloped the bridge of the Enterprise was unnerving and eerie. The last animal scream of the tortured Vulcan still rang in Uhura’s ears and as she slowly looked around the pale faces of the crewmen she knew that they were as sickened as she was.

‘Captain Kirk... You _have_ to make it all right... somehow,’ she thought. She was aware of the fact that her inner voice sounded small and fragile and that her silent demand was wishful, childish thinking. But she knew of no one else who would be able to right everything. Kirk was... he was... he was the Captain. He could do _everything_. Or... could he?

 

The man in question – Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise – beamed with four other security men right into the middle of hell. Or so it seemed.

The stench of blood, sweat and vomit permeated the air on the Andorian bridge and around him was pure mayhem. His last orders before they had beamed aboard had been, “Phasers on stun. I want as many of these bastards as we can get. I want answers.” And silently just for himself he continued, ‘And I want revenge.’

The security men were well trained. Even before the Captain had oriented himself in the dim light of the bridge, they had swarmed out, and already three aliens of the Andorian crew were lying motionless on the ground. Kirk saw the pale flesh of Spock’s back. It was mottled with bruises and smeared with blood. The Vulcan was cowering on his knees slumped forward and not moving. Kirk looked briefly around before deciding that his men had everything under control and pulled his communicator from the utility belt he wore.

“Mr. Scott. Beam Bones aboard. We need him immediately.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Kirk snapped the communicator closed and rushed ahead to the Vulcan on the floor. His First Officer. Spock. His... friend. He was only a few feet apart from the kneeling figure as his feet slipped on something and he nearly fell. A look down and he saw the emerald green of sticky Vulcan blood beneath his feet. For a brief moment Captain Kirk closed his eyes before snapping to attention and looking a final time around the bridge.

Every blue skinned alien was lying on the ground and two of the guards were making their way across the bridge in order to search the ship for more Andorian crewmen. Kirk slowly put away his phaser, while addressing the Vulcan on the floor cautiously. “Mr. Spock...”

He saw the slender shoulders tense and could have sworn he heard a low growling tone before he was shoved to the side from a scowling McCoy.

The Doctor was just going to kneel next to Spock as the Vulcan practically recoiled from the two and scrabbled to get away from them while growling dangerously, “Away! Get... Away!”

His eyes were big and dark and tortured. His jaw was hanging at an odd angle and Kirk winced as he imagined how painful speech had to be in this condition.

McCoy was making an impatient sound. “Damnit, you stubborn –“ he began, but fell immediately silent. Kirk knew why the angry tirade had been cut short.

He was feeling like his stomach had dropped out from under him and the tongue in his mouth felt too big and dry, like it was a foreign object. He had caught sight of the exact same thing that had made McCoy speechless. Spock’s... were these... were these _things_ his hands? Spock drew his knees up to his body and curled his torso forward in order to protect the green, bloody mess in his lap. His breathing was fast and ragged and he was watching his Commanding Officer and the CMO warily and without any sign of recognition.

The two men were still at a loss what they should do in order to calm the raging Mr. Spock as one of the guards made the decision for them. He simply stunned the hyperventilating First Officer. Spock crumpled in on himself and McCoy didn’t waste one second to flip open his communicator and bark, “Nurse Chapel; ready operation room number 2 immediately. Emergency surgery.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He exchanged a quick glance with the Captain who looked pale and as shaken as he had ever seen the brave man. McCoy turned away and to the unconscious Vulcan on the floor in order to do his work with grim determination while the Captain shook himself out of his stupor and started to bark hoarse orders into his communicator.

The fight was seemingly won. The battle, however, had just begun. ‘But what exactly does this battle entail?’ McCoy thought bitterly, as he let his tricorder run over the still form and watched with detachment as a slow trickle of greenish-white liquid slid down one creamy thigh. Whatever it would entail – this battle would be devastating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks sort-of the unofficial end of the unofficial prologue xD quasi the clip-before-the-title-card


	4. Chapter 4

Kirk slammed his hand down on the table and curled the other one into a fist at his side. His whole posture was rigid and seemingly prepared for a fight.

He stood in one of the interrogation rooms near the brig. One guard stood – phaser ready – at the door. Two were flanking the Andorian Commander who was seated on the other side of the table, strapped down to the chair and still looking slightly nauseated.

The blue skinned alien just awoke half an hour ago from its stupor due to the phasers. Kirk had nearly climbed the bulkheads of the Enterprise. It had been one of the longest hours of his entire life, waiting for the prisoners to come to their senses.

After McCoy had taken Spock with him he hadn’t heard a single word from the medical wing. It wasn’t too surprising, really. They only just begun the surgery and though he did not know much about medicine, he was not stupid and he knew that they would be holed away for hours.

Nothing left for him to do but to wipe the enemy ship clean of the aliens, throw them in the brig and order Scotty to take the foreign ship apart centimetre for centimetre until they found a clue as to what this bastards had hoped to achieve with their little, well played stunt. They had smuggled one of their men aboard the Enterprise, for God’s sake!

When one of the guards had informed him that the Andorians were slowly regaining consciousness, Kirk had been perfectly aware that this first interrogation would probably not yield the information he sought; but that did not mean that it made him less furious as the Commander just sat there with a perfectly straight face and did not so much as click his tongue at Kirk’s insistent questions.

He slammed his fist on the table again, just to vent his rising anger.

“Answer me, damn it! You are facing a life sentence and have seriously compromised the standing of the Andorian empire within the Federation. You – “

Something flickered in the pale eyes of the man in front of him and the Andorian slowly sat back in his chair, regarding Kirk with cool detachment, while his antennae twitched lightly. Was this a sign of nervousness? He was debating calling Uhura into the interrogation room. The communications officer was likely to understand the body language of these alien beings better than he.

“We are separated from the rest of our people. We are working alone.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed and he forced himself to remain controlled, while the back of his head was churning with non-relevant thoughts like, ‘Will McCoy cut his hands off? Will he want to interrogate them himself? Does he still think violence is to be avoided at all costs? I wanted to play chess with him tonight in recreation room 8...’

“You assaulted a Federation Officer and threatened a whole planet full of people. If you do not work for the empire – on whose orders did you act? You _have_ to have a reason. We looked into our databanks. The Andorians have no standing issues with the Mektorians. They are a largely peaceful race and only act in religious defence. Your two races have virtually never crossed paths. Why would you want them dead?”

 

Hours later Kirk was not any bit wiser as to the motif of the Andorians. He had crewmember upon crewmember dragged into the interrogation room until his head was pounding with a vicious headache. None of them were talking. Stubborn fools. Every now and again he contacted sickbay, but the residing nurse could not tell him more than ‘There are no complications, sir. He is still alive and his vital signs are well. I can’t go in and check more; Doctor McCoy would be really put out.’ One time she said ‘Doctor M’Benga has entered the operation room, sir.’

Kirk had to leave the interrogations after he nearly lunged over the table in order to pound the face of the Andorian, that had wielded the steel pipe, into the nearest surface. He left Giotto with the rest of the crew of the Andorian ship and would return later when the whole rotation of interrogations would start anew. He had the sinking feeling that no answers would be forthcoming.

Restless, he made his way through the ship to the bridge. While he had been away, the alpha shift had switched well into the beta shift. He gave the man on the Captain’s chair a slight nod and motioned for him to remain on his post. He gave the man on the Communication’s Station orders to contact Starfleet and make a brief report about what had transpired.

Kirk would have to sit down in the next two or three days and draft a whole report of what had happened, but he did not feel up to it right now and it would take over three weeks to reach headquarters anyway. Two or three more days would not make any difference.

He tried himself at his usual swagger as he sauntered over to the middle of the bridge, but he knew that it did not look convincing – if the sympathetic looks the crewmen were trying to hide were anything to go by. He started to feel sick to his stomach.

Kirk hit the button of the communication’s system in the armrest of the chair.

“Mr. Scott. Report.”

“We are still trying to find something useful in the databanks, sir. At the moment there are only reports of cargo. They seem to have been a common trading vessel. I will have to take their computer with me to the Enterprise in order to determine, if there is any coded information. Their computer language functions differently from ours. It’ll take a wee bit, but I’ll manage it in due time.”

Kirk sighed and rubbed across his eyes. The whole situation was getting more and more convoluted. He nodded slightly to himself and said, “Please do this, Mr. Scott. Beam back aboard the Enterprise and get their ship in one of our hangars. We have to move on and can’t take it with us via tractor beam. It would slow us down and we do not have the time. The Mektorians are desperately awaiting the medicine.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Contact the bridge when you’re done, so we can resume our course.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Kirk out.”

He gave the crewmember on the chair a slight nod, which was immediately returned, then turned around and left the bridge on unsteady feet.

 

Two hours later he found himself in McCoy’s domain. He had wandered around the ship aimlessly, while the crew was working diligently on the case of the Andorian ship's crew. All he could do was wait and see what they would unravel.

Time and time again he had found himself outside of sickbay and managed to divert his steps in another direction, but now he was no longer able to.

Spock, McCoy and M’Benga had been ensconced in operation room number 2 for nearly six hours now and he was getting more and more restless with each passing minute.

The nurse on duty – not Nurse Chapel, he noticed; she was with McCoy and M’Benga trying to salvage everything – threw him a sympathetic look and got off from her chair in order to say something as the other door opened and McCoy entered.

The three were silent for a few heartbeats. Kirk felt his gut churn as he contemplated the emerald blood on McCoy’s surgery gown.

“Please leave us, Nurse Fink,” McCoy said silently. His voice sounded hoarse and weary and he slowly scraped the tight gloves from his skilled hands.

“Of course.” The nurse walked briskly out of the room, ducking past her Captain and closing the door softly.

“How is he, Bones?”

Kirk was appalled at how fragile his voice sounded. Like the voice of a little boy. He squared his shoulders, that he did not even notice had slumped – hours ago. By God, had he been wandering the Enterprise like a total wreck? What did his crew think of their Captain? He had to get a grip on himself. And fast. He cleared his throat and repeated his question; his voice now stronger, “How is he, Bones?”

Kirk threw the CMO a warning look as if to dare him to comment on his weakness, but his old friend did not react as Kirk had anticipated. He simply made his way wearily towards his desk and slowly sunk down in his chair. He contemplated the surface of the desk for a long time.

“He is still alive. M’Benga has taken over the surgery, because I’m too tired. My concentration was fadin’ and one has to be on his best game for surgery of any kind. However he’ll have to quit soon as well. Spock needs quiet anyway. When his body is a little more rested we can attempt more, but the tissue –“

“Bones. Stop,” Kirk interrupted the CMO mid-ramble and strode across the room. He plopped down in the chair across McCoy who sighed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and slumped back in his chair.

McCoy was staring at the ceiling while slowly unfastening the ruined surgery gown.

“I can’t tell you much, Jim. I just...” he faltered and then visibly struggled to regain his equilibrium. Like Kirk a few moments prior, he straightened his shoulders and his spine stiffened in masculine pride. He shrugged off the gown and threw it forcefully into a corner.

“I’ll tell you what, Jim. Don’t let me near those bastards or I’ll forget my Hippocratic oath and rip them apart with my bare hands.”

The left corner of Kirk’s mouth twitched. “I’d hold them still for you, Bones.”

He nodded as McCoy got a steaming hot cup full of tea from the replicator. The doctor took another one out of the mechanical contraption and sat it in front of his best friend. Then he got a bottle of his best Georgian bourbon and poured a good amount of it into their cups.

They sipped silently the beverage; savouring the soothing warmth that it brought.

Kirk started slightly, when Bones threw a little bottle into his lap. He picked it up with a frown and studied the innocent white pills.

“Sleeping pills?”

“You’ll need it.”

“Bones...”

“Take them, Jim. You need all the strength you can get. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that you need to find out. I want to know why they did it and you _need_ to know it. Otherwise you won’t find any peace.”

They were both silent for a while. Kirk contemplating McCoy’s words and staring into the distance without realising it and McCoy watching his Captain with a calculating gaze.

“How is he, Bones?” Kirk whispered after some time. His voice small and trembling.

McCoy was a gruff, no-nonsense man. Kirk never knew him to be a coward or to overly monitor his words, but when he answered, his voice was just as low and forlorn, “I don’t know, Jim. I simply don’t know.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kirk was startled awake from the whistle of the intercom. He was disoriented and struggled to free himself from his blanket. He swore silently but wholeheartedly as he tripped over his feet in his haste to get to the panel in the bulkhead.

“Kirk here.”

“Captain,” came Scotty’s voice without hesitation by way of greeting. Kirk blew a silent breath and closed his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Scott. What is it?”

“I think I found something mighty odd in the codes of the Andorian ship’s computer. Their programming is convoluted to say the least, but I’m positive that I’ll soon have the needed data. But it looks like everything is in their native language.”

“Get Lieutenant Uhura’s help. She’ll breeze through it.”

“Aye, sir. I intended to. She already approached me and offered her assistance.”

Kirk’s lips twitched at the same time as his throat threatened to close. Uhura fought like a lioness when she saw need to. That she thought it was time to intervene in the whole mess was a sign how dear Mr. Spock was to her. And how utterly wrecked everything was.

“Sir...” came the engineer’s voice as his Captain did not answer. Kirk shook himself out of his reverie.

“Yes, Mr. Scott?”

“I wanted to contact you earlier, but Doctor McCoy advised us to leave you alone for a few hours. Commander Giotto asked me to tell you that he interrogated the remaining Andorians and couldn’t unearth further information. He requests a meeting before you’ll start a new rotation.”

Kirk slowly leaned his forehead against the bulkhead and pounded softly with his free hand against the surface.

“What time is it, Mr. Scott?”

A few seconds hesitation, then, “0800, sir.”

He had slept the whole night with the help of the pills and thankfully – also with their help – dreamless. He did not feel any better or more rested. The whole situation came back crushing down on him. Mr. Spock cowering on the enemy bridge. The first of the guards forcing himself into the vulnerable, trembling body, while the Vulcan struggled to breathe after a few vicious kicks to his tender side, where Kirk had known his Vulcan heart was fluttering in a desperate struggle.

He bit onto his tongue and said with a clipped voice, “Thank you, Mr. Scott. Did you work the whole night through?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Yes... of course...” Despite himself, Kirk had to grin slightly. His crew was just perfect. Everyone totally caught up in their new mission. Their new unexpectedly personal mission.

“Please find some rest and then go back to the decoding of the databanks.”

“Yes, sir. Scott out.”

Kirk waited a few seconds to get his equilibrium back. Scotty knew him and would not say anything, but he simply could not let his guard down in this way with the rest of his crew. He needed to be strong for all of them. A sobbing wreck of a Captain would help no one. He pushed the intercom button.

“Kirk to sickbay.”

“Sickbay. Nurse Chapel here. What can I do for you, Captain?”

It was soothing to hear the gentle voice of the nurse. He swallowed heavily.

“How is Mr. Spock doing?”

“He is still sleeping due to the medication, sir. We brought him into the intensive care room. He’ll probably be out for another day or so. Doctor McCoy and M’Benga aren’t sure because of his hybrid physiology. But rest assured that he is all the time under surveillance,” she answered dutifully. The last sentence she added almost hastily as if afraid that the Captain would explode otherwise. Kirk straightened his shoulders.

“I’ll come down and –“

“McCoy here. Don’t come down, Captain. Nothing worthwhile to see, unless you want to stare at a pale Vulcan. Everything is under control and I will contact you if anything changes,” the CMO intervened with a clipped voice. “Do your job, Captain, and I’ll do mine,” he concluded after Kirk did not answer for one or two seconds. The words were harsh, but the voice was as tender as the gruff physician could get.

Kirk sighed.

“Very well. Kirk out.”

He contemplated the intercom system with a forlorn expression before making up his mind and pushing the button for a third time this morning.

“Kirk to security. Commander Giotto; I’ll meet you at precisely 0830 in conference room 6 in order to discuss further actions.”

He waited until he got the confirmation of his order, then left for a much needed shower that would help him get his thoughts sorted and start his day as Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. No one would dare to cross his path. Not when his First Officer was lying helpless and beaten in sickbay and the perpetrators were withholding needed information.

 

Lieutenant Uhura was five minutes before alpha shift started on the bridge. Just as usual. First she made her way over to the communication’s station where the young man of the night shift was starting to sign off in order to see, if anything was out of the ordinary. Just like usual. After she was assured that nothing untoward had happened, she waited the remaining four minutes beside his chair and watched the other crewmen signing off and her co-workers signing on. Just like usual.

But this was the only usual thing of this first alpha shift after the nightmare they went through yesterday. Pale, strained faces all around. No joking or laughter or banter between Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov. She slowly walked the upper railing of the round bridge in order to get a look at the expressions of the helmsman and the navigator.

Her stomach constricted, as she saw the drawn faces of the two staring at their consoles. Especially the normally boisterous Russian was sickly pale around his tightly pursed lips. His hands were moving, but Uhura could tell, that he was just going through the motions and did not really realise what he was doing.

She descended into the lower level of the bridge until she stood beside the man and slowly touched his shoulder while saying, “Mr. Chekov.”

He jerked violently and recoiled slightly from her, while snapping his head up. She twitched but had already anticipated the reaction. He seemed to have been deep in thoughts.

“Yes?” he said rather strangled.

Her dark, carefully painted eyes studied him a moment.

“Is everything all right?” she asked with a kind upwards curve at the end of her lips. Chekov’s agitated face suddenly lost all tension and the corners of his mouth pulled down. His shoulders slumped slightly and his eyes were cast down.

“Yes, Lieutenant. Ewerything is all right,” he said at last. Uhura’s throat constricted. Suddenly she was aware just how young the Ensign was. He had something in his eyes that Uhura could only describe as a ‘one-million-yard-stare’. He did not seem to be really here on the bridge. She sighed and touched his shoulder again in a silent act of support. She squeezed, until she could feel a little more tension leave in the body of the young man and saw the thankful look he threw her.

She exchanged a quick nod with Sulu, who had the same kind of forlorn, shell-shocked air as his companion and hurried back to her station, before she just started to hug everyone on the bridge to give them strength.

 

A few hours later her first highly emotional response had dulled enough for her to be able to analyse the situation they were in, in more detail.

Mr. Sulu had for the most part of alpha shift the con, because the Captain was busy with the interrogations. One or two times he briefly called the bridge in order to ask if everything was all right. Once he quickly made a round, but he did not stay long and his face was pale and hard, just like the hazel eyes which seemed to be blazing in anger. No one dared to talk to him.

She doubted that he even noticed the shell-shocked air of his alpha shift or the uncharacteristic silence. Every now and again she turned around and watched her fellow crewmen interact with one another. She watched their gestures and listened to the silent, subdued voices.

Lieutenant Uhura was slowly tapping her lips with one exquisitely manicured finger while contemplating the changes after the previous day. Starfleet had made certain in their education that they were schooled in how to deal with traumatic experiences, but she doubted that any of the present people had anticipated to actually be traumatised some day.

Somehow it always seemed like these kinds of things would only happen to other people. Never to one-self. At least that was her opinion.

Mr. Spock had been the direct victim, but looking at the few men and women around her she would have thought they had been the ones being violated and beaten savagely.

Nobody knew any news of Mr. Spock or what exactly was going on down in the interrogation rooms. Uhura only knew some of it because she had visited Chief Engineer Mr. Scott in the small hours, as she just could not find any sleep. She was waiting for him to decode the messages so she could start to translate them.

All the other crewmen, though, knew next to nothing, which probably just added to the strain they were under. Mr. Spock was a cool, aloof individual, but highly respected and liked from his co-workers.

“They’ll need psychological assistance,” she suddenly thought and filed away a message from Starfleet without really thinking about it. At the moment she was functioning on autopilot; not unlike the young Ensign Chekov.

Her eyes wandered over to the science station where one of the young scientists Mr. Spock was educating, was standing and silently doing her work.

Lieutenant Uhura closed her eyes for a few seconds and saw the austere face of Mr. Spock in her mind. She swallowed hard.

 

A few minutes before alpha shift ended Uhura contacted Mr. Scott in order to learn if there were any differences regarding the databanks. The chief engineer had to destroy her hopes but was positive that he would soon have a break through.

“Just come over here in an hour or two and maybe I’ll have a few sentences for you to pick apart, lassie,” he said with his thick Scottish accent that never failed to make Uhura smile, even if it was at the moment a little brittle and strained.

Not long after she found herself on her way to sickbay. She exchanged greetings with every crewmember she came across and got a few flirtatious looks from crewmen she never saw before. It was nothing unusual, but today she really was not in the mood and just nodded polite in passing.

She entered sickbay unnecessarily cautiously. She was not one of those that were a afraid of Doctor McCoy – the Southern man had always been unfailingly polite towards her – but today she felt the atmosphere on the ward like a heavy, thick blanket upon her shoulders. She looked around and could not see anyone at first, until she caught sight of a flash of light blue in a doorway.

“Excuse me?” she called softly.

The flash of light blue revealed itself to be a smiling Nurse Chapel, who nodded at Lieutenant Uhura by way of greeting.

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” she asked and looked down onto her PADD in order to scribble something onto it.

“I was wondering, if I could pay Mr. Spock a little visit?” she asked tentatively and added hastily after she saw the hesitation in the nurse’s posture, “I’ll be quiet as a church mouse. Just five minutes.”

Nurse Chapel looked her up and down for quite a while, until the Communication’s Officer thought she’d deny her request. Chapel, however, surprised her by solemnly nodding and gesturing for her to follow. She probably had seen something in her face that she liked. Or was it pity?

The nurse stopped at one of the last doors and turned towards Uhura.

“Please don’t be alarmed. He had a few serious injuries and they will take time to be healed. His isn’t a case where they have to simply put a dermal regenerator to his injuries and be done with.”

Uhura just nodded and slowly walked into the quiet room.

 

She brought her hands up to her mouth, which did nothing to stifle the soft breath of air that escaped her lips in a gasp, when she saw the lone figure laying quietly on the narrow bed. She could not see much, but the things she could make out were looking so alien that the little hair on the back of her neck were standing on edge.

Mr. Spock's lower face was tightly wrapped in bandages. Chin, lips and jaw no longer visible under the crisp, bright strips of cloth. His head was held securely by a specially formed pillow. Dimly she remembered the Andorian guard breaking the jaw of the Vulcan with the steel pipe and shuddered slightly.

The only other visible things were his arms that were lying over the thin blanket. They were covered in a way by some thick material that reminded her of sleeping bags. They surrounded his hands and were ending just a few centimetres under the elbows. The area covering the hands looked like mittens – there were no separate fingers visible. She wondered for a few seconds frantically how his hands were looking under the contraption. If Doctor McCoy managed to safe the sensitive Vulcan digits that were able to do the most delicate of scientific works as well as play the harp masterfully.

The Lieutenant blinked her tears away and slowly walked over to the bed. She stood silently beside the still figure and looked down at the visible upper half of his face. His eyelids had a greenish-blue hue and the area underneath them looked bruised as if he had not slept in weeks. He looked strangely fragile. Not at all like the capable, strong Vulcan she knew him as.

She wanted to hold his hands and try to make him feel better, but that obviously was out of the question.

‘Vulcans are touch telepaths if I am correct. Is this restricted to their hands? Oh Mr. Spock. What happens, if they aren’t as functional anymore?’ she thought sadly but squared her shoulders as she realized what she was thinking.

‘What is _wrong_ with me? I’m not some stupid damsel in distress. Stop snivelling and crying, Uhura. Mr. Spock is going to be all right. We are his family. And we are a stubborn bunch.’

Determined she reached for the dark, glossy strands of hair resting on his forehead and gently pushed them aside to stroke the feverish hot skin with her dark fingers.

 

That was the first sight that greeted Captain Kirk as he let himself inside the room for intensive treatment. For a split second he was totally dumbfounded to see Lieutenant Uhura beside the narrow bed and stroking Spock’s forehead with the tentative tips of her fingers. In the next moment he took in the sight of his First Officer and everything else was forgotten.

 

Uhura looked up as the Captain walked in and slowly removed her hands from the First Officer. She took one step back and debated for a short moment, if she should say something, but the look on Kirk's pale face made her shut her mouth with a quiet pop.

Silently she walked past her Captain, who did not seem to notice her at all. She closed the door softly behind her and as she made her way slowly to engineering she contemplated the look on the face of her Captain.

She had never thought she would see this stubborn, proud man look so... heartbroken. Like a little boy whose most precious possession was being torn apart by some bullies on a backyard. She slowed her steps down and stood at a corner out of the way of the busy crew around her.

‘Captain...’ she thought, looking with a furrowed brow at the bulkhead in front of her without actually seeing it. ‘Captain is there something, you... hmmm...’

She mulled things over in her head for a while and as she continued her way, her heart was a little bit lighter than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Kirk's impressions on Spock's bedside.
> 
> Also: Don't worry, there's not going to be any Uhura/Spock. I merely like her very much :) but she's not going to take over the story


	6. Chapter 6

Kirk could not have said later on how long he had stood just inside the relatively small room, staring at the figure of his First Officer. A jolt went through his body after some while and he snapped out of his stupor in order to walk with unsteady legs, that felt like rubber, towards the narrow hospital bed.

His eyes roamed the long, slender man slowly, resting for some time on the odd contraptions surrounding his forearms and hands, before studying the pale face. He tried to match the stoic, strong face of his First Officer and friend with the hurt creature that had had its jaw broken by an enemy and finally with the pale, helpless stranger that was now lying in front of him, until his head pounded with a vicious headache. The Captain looked around until he spotted a chair and dragged it as close to the bed as physically possible before slumping down.

“What now, Mr. Spock? We’re not closer to solving this whole mess than we were yesterday,” he said in a near whisper and leaned close towards the sleeping – or unconscious? – man. After a little hesitation he braced his forearms on the bed beside one narrow shoulder and slowly placed his head upon his folded hands, right beside Spock’s head. He felt terribly tired and drained. The interrogations had been a nightmare; none of the Andorians were willing to talk and he had been angry and agitated the whole time.

It was an exercise in and of itself to experience such violent emotions for such an extended period of time. Normally he was cool and collected; superior even. How many races had he lectured and helped in the last two and a half years? And it only took one injured Vulcan to totally destroy his equilibrium.

He sighed softly and watched the dark hair on Spock’s temple tremble slightly in the breeze. He spoke again directly in the delicately pointed ear; he sounded like a man under hypnosis, “You would know an answer, wouldn’t you? You always have an answer when I’m out of ideas. I never realised it, until I stood before the Andorian scumbag who smashed your hands and wanted to do the same to every last bone of his. I stood there. Helpless. And he grinned at me, Spock. He grinned me right in the face and I could do literally nothing to stop him. In that moment I wanted to... I just wanted...” he trailed off and turned his head slightly away; his brows were furrowed and he looked like he was contemplating a complicated mathematical equation.

When Kirk spoke again, his voice was even lower than before. He brought his face closer to the silent Mr. Spock to whisper in his pointed ear; he had the irrational urge to let the Vulcan hear everything he had to say despite his unconsciousness. And only he should hear it. Nobody else was entitled to witness the shameful secret of the Captain of the USS Enterprise.

“I wanted to kill him, Mr. Spock. I wanted to pull my phaser and shoot him right between the eyes. No... no, no... that is not true. I wanted to make him pay for it first. For what he did to you. Spock, I... What kind of starship Captain has such thoughts? What kind of man am I, if I want to kill somebody only because he...” he faltered for an instance and sat slightly back.

He looked down into the drawn face and saw that the black strands of silky hair on his forehead were in disarray because of Lieutenant Uhura’s touch a few minutes ago. He realised that Mr. Spock would be really put out if he knew and extended his hand to smooth the hair neatly back down. His fingers lingered for a few seconds and trailed with a feathery touch down the back of the long, straight nose.

His voice had more strength as he finished his earlier question, “What kind of man am I, if I want to kill another being only because it harmed one of my friends?”

“If you don’t know the answer to that question, Jim, you should go to bed, because that is a sure sign that your brain is starting to fail,” a new voice interrupted. Kirk reeled back with such force that he nearly dislocated his shoulder in his haste to draw his hand away. At the same time McCoy sauntered over to them and casually remarked, “Did your mama never tell you, that one only looks with his eyes and not with his hands?”

Kirk scowled and quickly got to his feet. He felt – for a reason he did not care to analyse further – defensive and did not want to be sitting down in the presence of his old friend and therefore be in a lower position. A pure animal instinct.

He caught McCoy’s amused expression and just got more agitated. He prowled the little room, while the Doctor checked the readings on the panel over Spock’s bed.

“What did you mean?” he asked. McCoy did not look at him.

“That you told me you just wanted to ‘look how he’s doing’ and...”

“Not that.”

“Jim...” McCoy sighed and shook his head from side to side. He looked over to the Captain and realised the unhappy slant of the gold-brown eyebrows and the tense set of the broad shoulders. A quick look down and he could see that Jim was curling his hands repeatedly into fists in order to rein in his emotions.

Doctor Leonard McCoy was many things. But a dumbass was none of them. He checked some last data, then turned towards his friend and tucked the PADD under his arm.

“Come with me. I want to talk to you.”

For a few seconds he thought Jim was going to argue. The pale pink lips compressed for the fraction of a second into a stubborn, narrow line and the hazel eyes were sparkling with fire; but just as quickly the Captain checked himself and slowly nodded. “Right.”

They left the room and the sleeping Mr. Spock in silence.

 

“Is he in his... healing trance?” Kirk asked after he and McCoy had seated themselves in the office of the CMO. McCoy shot him a strange look and drummed with his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He seemed to have some kind of internal battle that Kirk did not even try and start to deduce. Many emotions flittered across the craggy, Georgian face; too fast to be analysed. But he seemed to make a decision before Kirk could ask and sat back in his chair, watching Kirk with his foggy blue eyes that never failed to make the Captain feel like a child about to be chastised.

“No, he is not. M’Benga doesn’t think, that he will have one either.”

“Why not?”

“We are not certain. The chemicals the Andorians have forced into his system are forcing his already fucked up hybrid physiology to do the strangest things. We have tried to get most of them out, but there are still strong traces in his bloodstream and especially his brainwaves seem to be affected. The substance has a strange effect on that Vulcan brain of his. They block a large quantity of the receptors that enable him to do his Vulcan mind voodoo,” he paused and took in Kirk’s crestfallen face. He grimaced and continued his monologue. He did not believe in sugar-coating the facts.

“He _should_ be waking in the next day or so. He won’t be able to talk for the next week at least. If he is unlucky two weeks. The damage to his jaw was extensive.”

McCoy forced himself to keep his gaze levelled on the Captain, as he said with a gruff voice, “We have dealt with all the... muscle tearing. He shouldn’t have any problems in that regard.”

Kirk’s shoulders tensed – if even possible – more and a slow blush crept along his neck and into his face. It seemed to be part anger and part embarrassment that forced his eyes to narrow – he did not allow himself to look down into his lap; he matched McCoy’s Doctor’s gaze stare for stare in manly pride.

Muscle tearing. It didn’t sound like a big deal. Simply a little muscle tearing. Like when he overexerted himself in the gym. Muscle tearing.

Spock’s trembling, creamy thighs coated in thick liquids.

Muscle tearing.

Kirk forced his teeth apart and slackened his jaw a little, then let his breath rush out. McCoy nodded slightly and seemed to be satisfied with his reaction, because he continued, “The most part of the operation yesterday was dedicated to the damage done to his hands. Amongst other things, muscles were torn, delicate bones were shattered and most of the skin tissue was not salvageable. He will need more operations and will have to learn anew to work his fingers and wrists. But I can’t tell you if they’ll be – as they say – just as new. The damage is still far too extensive.”

A wry smile twisted McCoy’s lips. “He’ll probably master everything in a day or two if that computer brain of his is as good as he boasts all the time.”

The little joke fell flat and an awkward silence reigned in the CMO’s office until he cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders.

“These are the facts. If you like ‘em or not.”

Another silence and McCoy started to get a little miffed at Jim’s non-responses. A few minutes ago the Captain had been almost at his throat for interrupting his little private-time with Spock and now he was just staring at the desk between them like it was the most fascinating object he had ever seen. He decided to attack.

“One good thing comes out of the whole mess.” He waited until Jim’s hazel eyes were fixed on his face to continue with a broad drawl, “The next few days he won’t be able to talk and I can say what I want as long as I want, without being interrupted with being ‘illogical’. And I’ll enjoy it tremendously to watch him learn to work his jaw again.”

The Captain was quick as a lightning as he shot out of his chair and toppled it over in his haste to try and get onto McCoy’s throat. The CMO quickly pushed his chair back in order to escape the grasping hands of his friend that was now screaming, “Do you think that is funny? Do you think it’s a fucking joke that he is hurt and has to be dependent on us? He will _hate_ it, Bones, and – “

“Jim. Calm down. I just wanted to get a reaction other than blank staring out of you.”

McCoy’s lips quirked slightly and sardonically, but the piercing blue eyes were astonishingly gentle as well as his voice that had lowered soothingly. Kirk kept standing. His broad chest heaving with his quick breaths; however, he seemed to be himself once again. He lowered his gaze slightly.

“I’m sorry, Bones.”

“Don’t worry. The last day or so wasn’t what I’d call ideal. You’re coping well despite the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?”

“Spock being here and all.”

“Yeah. It’s hard without a First Officer and – “

“Jim. You know as well as me that the man lying in the intensive treatment room at this moment is not your First Officer. He’s just Spock. And we’re all worried.”

A few seconds pause and then a slight chuckle.

“I’ll tell him that you were worried. He’ll have a field day.”

“I’ll deny everything under oath.”

The two men grinned slightly at each other across the table and Kirk turned in order to pick up the chair that had fallen to the ground.

“I’m going to my quarters and try my luck with the report to Starfleet. I won’t be conducting any more interrogations. I left it to Giotto and his team. If anything in Spock’s status changes –“

“You’ll be the first I’ll inform, Captain.” McCoy got up off his chair and made his way around the table. He clapped a strong, heavy hand on the Captain’s left shoulder and leaned in his personal space in order to say in a quiet voice, “Do yourself a favour and go to the gym and punch a few things, Jim. Hard. Or you’ll forget yourself when one of the Ensigns drops a stylus or something. You’re strung as tight as a banjo.”

Kirk got a thoughtful expression and rubbed slowly his chin.

“You know what, Bones? That’s a good idea. I think I’ll do just that.”

McCoy grinned and patted his shoulder.

“You do that, Captain. And now get out of my sickbay. I’m a busy man, not like some of us.”

Kirk snorted, shot McCoy a wry grin and made his way out of the office.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning alpha shift saw their Captain in a much more emotionally balanced state despite Lieutenant Uhura not being at her console due to Scotty’s breakthrough with the databanks the previous night. The two of them were now ensconced somewhere in the bowels of the Enterprise and Uhura was breaking apart every scrap of Andorian sentence Scotty could wriggle out of their systems.

The atmosphere on the bridge was tense; this time, however, with anticipation and not dread. But still... Kirk was watching the few people around him interact with one another and got the feeling that something was not quite right. Even given the situation they were currently in, something just did not... fit.

Alas, he could not pinpoint it. He worried a little more at it like he would at a sore tooth but ultimately had to admit defeat and let it rest at the back of his mind, where so many more issues were waiting and battling to get to the front.

Foremost the Vulcan lying in sickbay right now. Still unconscious. He sighed nearly inaudible and stared at the back of Sulu’s head.

“Mr. Sulu. ETA to the Mektorian solar system?”

“Three days in warp 4, sir.”

Kirk sighed and stretched his legs in front of him. He punched one of the buttons on the panel in the armrest of his chair.

“Kirk to sickbay.”

“I swear to god, Jim. Leave me alone. He won’t get better if I can’t do my job because I have to babysit you all the time,” came the gruff answer from the CMO. Kirk huffed and narrowed his eyes slightly, but relaxed as he caught a glimpse of a cheeky grin Chekov threw over his shoulder at his Captain.

For some reason the weight on his back seemed to lift a little and he shot the young Ensign a wry smile. Before he could answer McCoy, however, the intercom whistled and Uhura’s excited voice was to be heard, “Captain, we got something major!”

He immediately cut the line to sickbay and punched another button. His heart was beating unexpectedly fast and he had to clear his throat before he croaked like a teenage boy in front of the alpha shift crew.

“I’ll come down and –“

A whisper rustled across the bridge and drew Kirk’s attention. The hazel eyes swept up and slowly around, taking in the faces of the crew surrounding him. Each pair of eyes was fixed on him, some of them neutral, but some of them also nearly... pleading. The hair on the back of his neck started to stand on end and a shiver made its way from deep inside his gut up his spine to the nape of his neck.

He knew these feelings. They started every time he had to make a decision as a Captain. An important decision to be exact.

The fact, however, that he did not know at the moment, which decision it was he had to make and why it was so important, was more daunting, than he cared to admit.

“Captain?” came the confused voice of the Lieutenant from the speaker and he realised, that he had never finished his sentence. Kirk locked eyes with Chekov and Sulu for a few seconds. He took in the forlorn stares and slightly slumped shoulders and felt like he was leaping from a tall cliff as he said with a scratchy voice, “Tell me the information, Lieutenant.”

“Right now, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Very well...”

It was like a heavy blanket had been lifted from the bridge crew. A collective breath was taken and a few postures slumped in their chairs.

Kirk felt like he had made the right decision despite still not knowing exactly why.

 

Only later that day the epiphany would come between two especially rough punches to the punching bag.

‘I’ve let them out of the loop since Spock was attacked. They were probably as desperate as me for any scrap of information they could get. Huh... Maybe I should talk to one or two. It seems there is something going on that I’m not quite aware of,’ he would think, while wiping away his sweat and rolling his slightly strained right shoulder.

He was no psychologist; he would need to talk it over with Bones. The fact that he did not immediately caught on to what was happening with his crew, though, was disconcerting to say the least.

He scowled as he made his way under the showers and let his head hang low, while the hot water drummed on his neck and over the toned back. As a starship Captain he had to have the wellbeing of the whole crew on his mind. Not only one member. By God, what was _up_ with him, the past few days? He was behaving like a... like a...

“Like a lovesick fool,” he whispered so low, that it would not have been heard over the rushing of the water even if he had not been the only person occupying them at the moment.

A sudden rush of anger made him curl his right hand into a fist and slam it against the cool, tiled bulkhead. The pain throbbing through his knuckles cleared his mind a little and he murmured again, “Like a lovesick fool.”

A tiny, private smile would creep across his face in that moment and would be immediately squashed.

 

Right now, however, Captain Kirk was sitting in the command chair and looking at his inexplicably elated crew while listening to Uhura taking a deep breath and preparing for her report.

“There are still some huge holes left, which we need to fill, but the gist I got from the few crumps, Mr. Scott fed me – “ one could hear in the background the Chief Engineer’s voice mumble, ‘I’m doing what I can, lassie!’; Uhura continued undeterred, “ – suggests, that the Andorians were, indeed, not acting upon orders of their people, but from the Prechtans.”

She paused and Kirk got the distinct impression that she was baiting her breath for his reaction, while one or two people around him were hissing faintly and clearly shocked. For a few seconds he felt annoyed at being left out of the loop until his brain kicked back in and his belly was bathed simultaneously in white hot anger and ice cold dread as he realised where he had heard that name before.

“That planet right after Mektor...” he mumbled, sprung up from his chair and rushed to the Science Station, while Uhura said, “Exactly, Captain. There seems to be something ‘in the bush’, so to speak, which we haven’t been aware of before. You see, there...”

“One moment, Lieutenant,” he said distractedly, while climbing the upper ring of the bridge and addressing the young man at the Science Station, “Ensign, show me the map of the Mektorian solar system.”

“Right away, sir.”

A few button presses later and the star chart was being displayed on one of the upper monitors. Kirk remembered Spock being quite fascinated from the peculiar structure of this solar system and that he himself had not quite succeeded in matching the enthusiasm of his First Officer – enthusiasm he had, of course, displayed in a very discreet Vulcan and oh-so-Spockian manner.

The system consisted out of two suns – one red and one yellow – with nearly identical masses. Two planets – Mektor and Prechta – were circling these suns endlessly in a peculiar figure eight, because of the complicated, delicate gravitational pulls the four planetary bodies were exerting upon each other. Prechta seemed to be endlessly following Mektor. Or was it the other way round? Kirk could not tell.

Now that he was really considering the solar system they were headed for, he could understand Mr. Spock’s fascination. It was a highly irregular sight. Most intriguing.

Without turning around he said, “Please continue, Lieutenant Uhura.”

She spoke immediately as if impatient to get the information out. Her soft voice was loud on the bridge, where everyone paused in his or her work in order to listen in on the information.

“In the instructions they gave the Andorians they repeatedly mentioned some ‘godly right’ and the ‘rightful suffering of their adversaries’. There was also some ‘sacrifice’ mentioned, but I’m not able as of yet to make an educated guess, what exactly was meant.”

Kirk stared a few more moments upon the star chart, before turning around and stalking back to his chair.

“All right, Lieutenant. Good work. Please continue until you found out what exactly the Prechtans have been planning and why. You have three days until we arrive at Mektor in order to deliver the medicine. Until then I want to know what I’ll be confronted with. No word to the Mektorians about what has happened. I want to have the moment of surprise on our side. The Enterprise will not be caught in the petty struggle of two planets.”

“Yes, Captain. Uhura out.”

Kirk’s face was as grim as the day before and the crewmen and women quickly got back to work. No one dared to say what everyone – including the Captain himself it seemed, if his expression was anything to go by – thought: They were already quite in the middle of this struggle.

Kirk resolved himself to another few hours in the gym after shift. The tension he had managed to loosen the night before was back with a vengeance.

 

It was in the middle of the night, as Captain Kirk got woken by the insistent whistle of the intercom. It took him a few moments to shook the daze of the sleeping pills off, but as soon as he had oriented himself, he was out of the bed and at the bulkhead.

“What is it?”

“He’s starting to wake, Jim.”

Kirk’s stomach knotted painfully at the simple statement of Doctor McCoy and he had to take one long, shaky breath.

“I’m on my way, Bones.”

He dashed to his wardrobe in order to throw on some clothes. His heart was beating in his chest like a hummingbird.

 

“Is he already awake?” Kirk asked as soon as he sidled into the dim room Spock was lying in. Bones looked up from where he injected something into Spock’s upper arm and silently shook his head.

“His brainwaves started to pick up a bit and he’s moving his head slightly. I don’t think that it’ll take much longer.”

He adjusted one last dial on the panel above Spock’s bed then went over to where Kirk stood at the foot of the bed, staring at Spock in a kind of daze. He placed his hand on the shoulder of his best friend and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“If anything seems off, call me. Otherwise just let him rest. He won’t be with us for long. He’ll still be dazed and disoriented.”

Kirk mumbled without taking his eyes off Spock’s pale face, “You’re not staying?”

McCoy’s lips twisted wryly and he slowly walked out the room, silently whispering, “Would never dream of interrupting.”

He had a sardonic expression on his face for the outside world, but inside he knew that anything else would have been cruel. Jim would probably deny everything and fight with hands and teeth, but McCoy started to suspect that there was more to this friendship of theirs than even they were aware of. He just wondered as whom Spock would wake up. The damage done to his psyche was as of yet an unknown variable in this whole, bloody equation.

 

Kirk stood for long moments at the same spot, watching the Science Officer and almost not daring to even breath until he saw the slight trembling of the vulnerable looking, pale green-blue eyelids. Kirk rushed around the bed and sank into the chair he had vacated yesterday.

“Spock...” he whispered and reeled slightly back in shock as the dark eyes suddenly snapped open at the mention of his name; they rolled frantically around until they fixed on Kirk.

The Captain sucked in a breath and held it. He felt like a bird being caught in the unblinking stare of the enemy cat. Spock’s eyes had been dark under normal circumstances, but now he had a hard time to even make out the soft, chocolate browns of the irises. Spock’s eyes seemed to be dark chips of granite and did not give an ounce of his thoughts away.

“Spock,” he said again. He felt suddenly really small and really overwhelmed. What was he supposed to say? He cleared his throat clumsily and brought his hand up in order to drag it through his hair. He noticed the black eyes shooting up and watching the motion with some kind of apprehension. The black, slanted eyebrows drew slightly together and Kirk wished he could see the exquisitely sculpted lips in order to determine with the help of their minute twists, if the drawn brows were indicating anxiety, fear or anger.

He slowly brought his hand down in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. Spock watched it as long as he could, then his eyes rushed back to Kirk’s face.

The Captain leaned a fraction in and peered intently at the visible upper half of his First Officer’s face. The normally keen, Vulcan eyes were slightly glazed.

‘The substances in his body. Bones said, that he wouldn’t be awake for long. He probably doesn’t really know what’s going on right now,’ Kirk thought and said with a low voice, “You’re in sickbay. Everything’s all right, you know. We will...” he paused and swallowed. Spock’s eyelids were already drooping despite his best efforts to stay awake.

Kirk could see the struggle in the oh-so-human eyes. “Everything’s all right,” he said again a little lame.

 

It was too dim for Spock to really make anything out of his surroundings. Only the Captain beside his bed was a constant he could fix onto. The fear spiking through his body as he had watched him rake his hand trough the golden hair had been unexpected and left him even more disoriented than before.

His heart was fluttering madly in his right side and he felt the blood rushing faster through his body in an immediate reaction and pounding unpleasantly in his fingertips.

The longer he lay, the more he became aware of the throbbing pain in his arms and the fact that he was not really able to move his head or that his mouth was for some reason shut; he was unable to open it. He tried and the agony shooting through his skull was enough to force a tight sound out of his throat.

 

Kirk watched in dismay as Spock seemed to slowly take in the state of his body. He could nearly see the gears in the Vulcan’s head starting to spin as he catalogued everything that was wrong with his body. Nonetheless; he was unprepared for the soft whimpering sound coming from the lying man as well as the increasing speed of his breathing.

Spock’s nostrils flared as if he was a spooked horse, in his attempt to draw as much breath in as little time as possible into his lungs, while the nearly black eyes were locked frantically onto his.

Kirk realised that Spock seemed to be totally stripped of any Vulcan mind-techniques at the moment and got up from his chair.

“Spock. Spock, keep calm. No need to freak out,” he said nervously. What was he supposed to do? How did one soothe a frantic Vulcan? Or the more accurate question was: How was James T. Kirk supposed to soothe a frantic Mr. Spock?

The little hair on the back of his neck started to rise and there was again that shiver deep inside his gut, racing up his spine...

A decision. He had to make a decision. An important one...

He slowly lifted his hand. Instantly the dark eyes were upon it. The slanted eyebrows were slightly drawn upwards. Again he wished to see the expression on Spock’s lips in addition. But alas, it was how it was and he had to take what he could get.

Kirk waited a few moments while murmuring some nonsense he was not really aware of, then lowered his hand to Spock’s forehead.

Lieutenant Uhura had done this just the day before. He had seen it. While he slowly stroked the silky hair of his First Officer with slightly trembling fingers he realised two things.

One: For a man who prided himself on his prowess with women he was spectacularly ill equipped to perform any tender interactions that did not involve sex.

And two: Mr. Spock seemed to react, in fact, rather positively to the unexpected, benign touch. His breathing slowed down, until he once more was lying pliant and relaxed on the bed. His eyes had not left Kirk’s for even one second; even as his eyelids slowly began to droop again.

Kirk felt ridiculous standing there and stroking the fine strands, until his forefinger slightly brushed the delicately pointed tip of Spock’s ear and the Vulcan emitted another low sound from deep within his chest.

At first Kirk had the mad thought that this was a moan of sexual arousal until his brain kicked in once more and he analysed it more accurately as what it really was: The sound of a creature accepting a kind touch and enjoying it in innocent surrender.

Suddenly it did not seem so ridiculous anymore to stand there in the dim room and soothe the worries of the other man. Suddenly Kirk wished the moment would take longer and longer.

He still stood there, his hand now quietly lying upon the black cap of hair, although Spock was already fast asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

“Here you go, Jim.”

Kirk was jolted awake both by the slow, Georgian drawl of Doctor Leonard McCoy and the strong smell of the coffee he was holding under his nose.

“Uughh...” was the not quite intelligent response of the Captain, as he realised the uncomfortable position he had slept in. He was sitting in the chair beside Spock’s bed – well, sprawled was a more accurate term – and his head was lying over the backrest at a sprain-inducing angle.

Kirk slowly sat upright and stretched himself while groaning in pain.

“What time is it?” he moaned while rolling his head back in his neck and carefully from left to right.

“0630. Now take your damned coffee. I gave Spock something that should clear the fog in his brain. It should have kicked in by now.”

Kirk had accepted the mug with a lopsided grin, but the last words of the Doctor awoke him better than any beverage would have been able to.

“He’s awake?” he said and immediately looked past McCoy to the Vulcan. And sure enough, the intelligent, dark eyes were open and seemingly swimming in the sea of white that surrounded him. They were fixed as best they could onto the two men and Kirk had the distinct impression that they were looking a bit warily.

“Yeah he’s awake, all right. ‘Tis a good sign too. Seems his body is going back on track. Was awake at six o’clock. Sharp,” McCoy said and huffed exasperatedly as Kirk put the mug down without taking one sip and rose in order to bend over the lying Vulcan. Kirk tried to decipher the strange expression in the dark eyes, but had to concede defeat after a few moments.

“Is he in pain?” he asked silently. McCoy stepped beside him and spared a short glance towards the panel over Spock’s bed.

“A little. But we numbed his arms separately, so it should be manageable.” They both saw the fierce light of determination flash in the dark depths of the human eyes, as McCoy mentioned Spock’s arms and the CMO slowly rolled his shoulders while mumbling, “Might as well come right down to it.”

He took a PADD in hand and started to scroll through some information, while he collected himself in order to deliver all the information needed. Kirk was watching Spock intently and therefore was the only one seeing the strange way Spock’s eyes were glued immediately to the CMO’s hands, watching them almost... fearfully, it seemed.

Kirk’s gut clenched into a tight fist of trepidation as he once again was reminded what had happened not even four days ago to this man.

“What’s with him?” he asked silently. McCoy glanced curiously over the PADD and caught sight of the unusual expression in Spock’s eyes. He sighed.

“Still the unknown substance the Andorians injected him with.”

He bent slightly over Spock in order to talk to him.

“You probably already figured out that your mind doesn’t work the way it usually does. These bastards gave you something that is messing with your telepathic receptors. M’Benga thinks that your system should have it purged in a few days, but I’m still doing some research.”

Spock didn’t react. He just stared. Kirk and McCoy exchanged a quick glance before McCoy resumed, “You won’t be allowed to move your head for another day, until I’m certain that your jaw has healed enough. I can show you the scans later, so you’ll believe me and won’t be trying any funny business; there won’t be any Vulcan smart-ass talk for another week or so, so you can save all the ranting and raving in that computer brain of yours until I cut the bandages around your face.”

Again no reaction. Just staring, while his eyes went darker and darker and none of the two men standing at his bedside was able to determine which emotion exactly was being displayed. It was hard to tell with Spock. It was easier to read him, when he was showing no emotion at all, McCoy realised with a sinking feeling.

Kirk on the other hand felt more and more agitated. What was up with McCoy? Where did these hostile words come from? He bit the tip of his tongue and felt his body vibrate in his need to reign in the curious protectiveness he felt regarding his First Officer. Never before had he felt the need to intervene on his Science Officer’s behalf – Spock was usually more than capable to handle his own – but seeing him now lying in this bed; helpless and not even able to talk; subjected to the whims of two Doctors... Didn’t McCoy realise what he was saying?

Apparently not, for the CMO continued, “M’Benga is currently reviewing the damage done to your hands. He will be conducting a surgery later today and I will assist. He has a better understanding of Vulcan physiology than I and will be able to save everything, that can be saved. Except for one bone, most of them are already nearly healed. It was a devilishly delicate piece of work, mind you, but I think I caught every last splinter and put the structure nearly perfectly together. The tendons and nerves are a whole ‘nother story. You’ll have to learn again how to work your fingers, but Nurse Chapel is already looking into the best treatments and is confident that it’s going to be all right...”

McCoy’s monologue slowly dwindled away until he came to an awkward stop. He stared at Spock and Spock stared back. The seconds ticked away and Kirk only realised after Spock’s eyes had flicked for the fraction of a second in his direction that he had his hands curled into fists and that the nails were digging into his palms. He slowly loosened his fingers and looked over to McCoy.

He had half a mind to seize the shoulders of his oldest friend and shake him until his teeth were rattling; that was, until he saw the expression on McCoy’s face.

The Doctor seemed totally shattered. His shoulders slumped and the piercing blue of his eyes was foggy and seemingly broken in his suddenly much older face.

“I... I’m sorry, Spock. I’m just... we’re doing the best we can, okay? Don’t you worry, everything will be... we’ll get you through this,” the Doctor croaked. He was unable to return the enigmatic gaze of the Vulcan and Kirk was certain that no matter how drugged Spock was, he caught it perfectly well that McCoy wasn’t able to tell him that ‘everything will be all right’. The CMO would never lie to a patient.

The realisation how hard it must have hit the Doctor to work on the battered, violated body of the Vulcan, hit Kirk like a fist square in the face. He wondered how he would’ve felt, if he had been in Bones’ shoes, trying to save the dexterous hands, to work the jaw back in it’s rightful place, to... mend the torn muscles.

“Bones...” he started, but the CMO was brusque in interrupting.

“I’ll have to go and talk to M’Benga. I’ll be back shortly,” he said gruffly and marched towards the door without looking back.

Kirk stared at the spot McCoy had just vacated, then turned back to Spock who was still just lying there and staring. Staring with that dark eyes of his that were full of an emotion the Captain couldn’t pinpoint. He felt so utterly helpless and completely foolish. He was torn between his two best friends, that were both hurting so bad; he just didn’t know how to heal them. But he was the Captain – he had to fix them, right? He was determined to, at least. He _wanted_ it.

God, he wanted it so bad.

‘Spock... what the hell is going through your head right now? I need your advice,’ he thought desperately, hovering over the man and watching him fight through... something.

 

Spock was staring into Kirk’s hazel eyes without really realising it. The wave of emotions and thoughts McCoy’s words had broken loose inside of him had been unexpected for the Vulcan and he was reeling from the backlash they induced.

He desperately tried to reign in the overpowering feeling of anger and misery, but found he was unable to access this particular part of his brain where he normally could compartmentalise his emotions in order to get a better understanding of their machinations upon his physicality.

He tried to relive the past few minutes. Tried to get some semblance of order into this jumbled mess in his brain – all the while clutching himself onto the anchor that was Jim’s concerned eyes hovering above him.

First they had talked about him as if he wasn’t awake and aware of his surroundings. The stab of impatience and anger had left him embarrassed and a little disoriented. The fact, that these two men he secretly called friends were talking about him as if he was an erroneous schoolboy had been... humiliating to say the least.

But that wasn’t what had tossed him into this sea of total madness he was currently drowning in. No, the panic had settled in right after McCoy’s first few sentences that left him cold with dread.

As the Doctor mentioned the Andorians everything suddenly came crashing down on him and he was only half listening to the harsh words coming from the mouth of the Georgian man.

The substance they injected him... It explained so much. He could literally feel the way the chemicals had attached themselves to the most important receptors in his brain and were blocking every transmission they could. No wonder he felt so disoriented. His telepathy was totally shut down and it left him in a curious state of isolation. There were no bits and pieces of thoughts and emotions from the men in his direct vicinity.

As a Vulcan he had learned to ignore everything that was not himself – but at the same time he also got used to that feeling of companionship. It was like... being alone and at the same time not being alone at all. It had been years since he last was the only presence in his head which were the long gone days on Vulcan where every being had been schooled to shut their emotions inside themselves.

The first years on earth where no one had been able to exert this kind of control had been distressing at first, but eventually he got used to it and over time even learned to... cherish the feeling of not being alone anymore. Of dimly being aware without really noticing it that he was part of one huge body: namely the crew of the Enterprise. A most peculiar and treasured feeling.

And now as he tried to carefully reach out towards his Captain in order to feel his very core that had the most soothing effects on him he realised that he couldn’t. He just... couldn’t.

He heard the things McCoy said about him not being able to talk and nearly closed his eyes in utter humiliation and dread.

No telepathy. No talking. It was one of the most daunting prospects he’d ever encountered. It felt like someone had placed an ice-cube on his stomach and the cold was rapidly spreading throughout his whole being. He felt as powerless as he had in the hands of the aliens. He was yet again at the mercy of a pack of people and even the knowledge that this time around it would be his friends was no real comfort. He hated not being in control.

Spock was so deep in thoughts that he almost didn’t hear McCoy’s words regarding his hands. He nearly let loose with a whimper as the Doctor so casually mentioned another surgery on them. Vulcan hands! They were playing around with the essence of his being!

They couldn’t just... slap him on some table for surgery. He needed more time. He had to come to terms with everything first.

What, if they didn’t do their jobs right? What, if he no longer was able to fulfil his duties on the Enterprise? His hands were his assets. He needed them. Not just for work, but for the Vulcan communication his physiology demanded, it was...

“Hey. What’s up in that Vulcan head of yours?” the Captain’s low voice shook Spock out of his increasingly desperate musings. As Spock snapped out of this maelstrom of confusing feelings and thoughts, he was suddenly aware that Jim and he were once again alone in the room. McCoy was gone and he hadn’t even noticed.

He stared into the hazel eyes and noticed that Kirk was supporting himself with one hand beside his head on the pillow.

Spock blew a soft breath out his nose and closed his eyes in defeat; in the wake of these emotional outbursts he was so unaccustomed to, he felt totally drained. He didn’t even realise the soft noise emitting from his throat.

“Spock.”

Spock opened his eyes again and looked into the intent face of his Captain. Jim’s eyes were sweeping across his face, but were repeatedly coming back to look him in the eyes. Spock was dimly aware that he didn’t feel crushing fear as Kirk lifted his other hand like he had the last few times one of the men had moved them and placed the fingers on Spock’s right cheekbone. The touch was so soft, that Spock nearly didn’t feel it.

“I’ll be back later. Before Bones and M’Benga get to work. Don’t you worry, friend. Everything’ll be okay,” he said with a low, but stern voice.

Spock’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird in his side; not just because of the reassuring words of his Captain but because of the fact, that he could feel Jim for the duration his skin was in contact with him. He could feel for those precious seconds that the Captain was not only telling meaningless truisms, but that he was determined to make real, what he had said.

Spock huffed another soft breath out of his nose and closed his eyes. The prospect that his whole existence could be destroyed if one of the Doctors made a wrong move seemed to weigh down a little less on him. He tried to open his eyes again, but they only fluttered uselessly. The last thing he was aware of before he succumbed to sleep was the feeling of warmth radiating from fingers that were hovering uncertainly above his tender eyelids.

 

Slowly Kirk withdrew his fingers and stared down upon the Vulcan. Did he do the right thing? He had no idea. The soft brown irises had been totally engulfed by the black, hard chips of flint the whole time; other then some kind of tension he could read absolutely nothing from Spock. Nonetheless he had had the feeling that something was off and wanted to bring the Vulcan back from whichever place he had gone to.

He tried to imagine what it had to be like for the proud Vulcan, but knew he just would not be able to do so.

It was with reluctance that he drew himself up and started for the door. He stopped just outside the range of the door’s sensors and turned back to Spock.

“You know, Mr. Spock, you are the most peculiar man. I never met someone, who was less responsive or more expressionless than you. And still... The whole crew on alpha shift is shaken. Lieutenant Uhura is about to rip the Andorians and Prechtans and what-nots apart with her bare hands in order to avenge you. Even Bones is at a total loss as to how he should handle himself, it seems. And me... I... well. I start to realise... many things right now. I just wanted to say, that...”

Kirk drew a deep breath.

“I never realised how important you were for the ship and its crew. And for me. I now realise that I took you for granted. Maybe we all have, because you were such a constant factor in all of our missions. That I have to figure this whole mess with the Mektorians and Prechtans out all by myself is... daunting, to say the least.”

Kirk straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, standing at attention.

“Mr. Spock, I won’t be taking you for granted anymore. I’m going to learn and I’m going to become a better starship Captain for the Enterprise and her occupants. And for you.”

He actually saluted the sleeping Vulcan before leaving the room. He knew that Spock didn’t hear even one word he had uttered, but that hadn’t been the point. To say it out loud made it so much more real and helped him fasten his resolve to be strong for everyone who looked at him for help and shelter.

 

Uhura’s pretty face was scrunched up in annoyance as she gave Kirk her report. It was only the end of alpha shift, but one could clearly see the fatigue in her dark, beautiful features. She and Scotty had been working on the translations through the night and had just finished half an hour ago.

“Nothing worthwhile, Captain,” she told him across a conference table. Mr. Scott, who was sitting at her side and looking like he was about to fall asleep right where he was, nodded miserably.

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’, Lieutenant?” the Captain asked a little miffed.

“I translated the order from the Prechtans to the Andorians. They were telling them to find a way to get rid of the medicine for Mektor. They were offering a sizeable pile of credits. Even more if the Andorians were able to find a sacrifice in order to ‘appease the gods and show them our deepest regards and that we are more worthy of their attention’. It’s easy enough to figure out that there seems to be some kind of Godly war going on between Mektor and Prechta; but who spoke the orders and why we had to be involved... I don’t know,” she said, spreading her hands in front of her and sighing. Scotty perked a little up.

“Anything from our captives, sir?”

“Nothing.”

Kirk sighed and rubbed his eyes.

He and the two other occupants were slightly startled as a soft alarm on his communicator went off. He silenced it and got to his feet.

“I have to go. You did good work, even if you didn’t find exactly what we needed. Please find some rest. We will talk about everything tomorrow before going down on the planet. Mr. Sulu estimated our time of arrival to about 1300 ship’s time,” he said, while walking towards the door. Just inside the doorway he briefly stopped to look back over his shoulder at the two and murmured, “They’re going to work on Mr. Spock’s hands. I’ll be in sickbay for the remainder of the day.”

He saw a curious glint in Uhura’s eyes he could not quite place, but then he was out of the room and on his way, trepidation mounting with each of his steps.

He wondered what would happen, if Spock’s hands were unsalvageable. Could the First Officer and Science Officer still do his job?

Kirk thought of all the times he had watched the dexterous fingers flying over buttons and dials and the strings of the strange Vulcan harp in some kind of amazement. His stomach felt like it was filled with lead, but he kept on going; his stride was purposeful and as he noticed the respectful gazes his crew shot him, he felt a little better.


	9. Chapter 9

Kirk sauntered into Spock’s room in sickbay and forced himself not to flinch as he saw that the contraptions around Spock’s forearms were open. He tried himself at his usual swagger as he strolled towards the lying Vulcan, whose dark eyes had been fixed upon him as soon as the door had swished open.

“Good day to you, Mr. Spock. I talked to Bones and he said it wouldn’t be much longer until the surgery. How’re you feeling?” he said, while coming to a stand beside the bed. He stared directly into Spock’s face – he didn’t dare to let his eyes wander down towards the damaged hands.

One slanted eyebrow twitched slightly and Kirk had the feeling that it was either mocking or annoyed, due to his illogical question which the Vulcan was in no way able to answer.

The left corner of his lips curled up in a wry smile and he turned around, looking for his chair. He couldn’t see it and huffed a little in annoyance.

“Seems like Bones doesn’t want me to stay around, eh?” he murmured and caught sight of the Vulcan’s eyes widening slightly. The silence – just a moment before rather comfortable – seemed in an instant tense and charged with... something. Trepidation? Was it possible that Spock didn’t like the thought of him leaving?

Kirk’s face sobered and he looked silently down at his First Officer. He had never before realised just how big those dark, gentle eyes were, but now that Spock was looking at him like a spooked colt it wasn’t hard to miss anymore.

“But I wouldn’t be me, if I’d let someone like Bones stop me, eh? I’ll find myself a nice, comfy chair and some reports that are long overdue and just barricade myself in here. Would be swell to wake up with my visage first thing in your face, wouldn’t it, Spock?” he said jokingly; all the while watching intently for any reaction on the other man that would give him a clue as to what Spock was thinking – or feeling.

His cocky grin slid slightly off of his face as he saw the profound gratitude in the dark depths and Kirk realised with a start that Spock’s eyes were no longer chips of impenetrable granite; a thin chocolate brown ring could be seen surrounding hugely blown pupils. Kirk’s mouth was all of a sudden dry and he had to lick his lips and clear his throat a little. Nonetheless his voice still cracked like a whip, when he said, “Then I’ll do just that, hm?”

Carefully he lowered himself on the very edge of Spock’s bunk; really just is right buttock, if one wanted to be exact – and Spock always wanted to be exact, he knew. He was watching for a reaction from the Vulcan; maybe he was being too close for comfort or something. He was not exactly sure as to how to handle the other man right now. What he wouldn’t give to have a glimpse into that Vulcan brain of his.

What had it to be like – living right now as Spock. Not being able to communicate in any way. Alone with his thoughts and feelings after what had been done to him. Sure – Spock was right now as calm as could be expected, but that meant very little where the other man was concerned.

He knew from their chess games that Spock was never uncomfortable with prolonged periods of silence. The Vulcan saw some strange value in just sitting together with someone and contemplating everything under the sun. Kirk, on the other hand, had never felt as assured in these situations.

Sometimes, when his day had been very taxing and he therefore was able to let loose of enough tension, he nearly had the feeling that Spock was having a silent conversation with him without him even participating actively – or so he thought.

Sometimes it seemed, that he was almost able to break the code of Spock’s delicate body language. It would dance just outside his peripheral vision, taunting and enticing him.

Sometimes he thought that Spock knew of his desperate struggle to understand his First Officer. Sometimes he thought that Spock was immensely amused by it.

But this time was not one of these ‘sometimes’.

He felt the tension in the long, lean body beside his hip – it was hard to miss, when one tuned himself to the silent language emanating from the lying figure. Spock was positively vibrating with it and Kirk thought that he knew the source of the tension: the surgery.

Maybe Spock was... afraid? Perhaps now wasn’t the time to indulge the Vulcan in silence. Perhaps it was time to talk and try to distract him – so he did, what Captain James T. Kirk did best; he began to talk.

“I spoke to Bones – as I’ve said before – and he told me that he and M’Benga are positive that there won’t be any major problems. The only thing he is a bit worried about is the bone of your left ring finger. It seemed to have been smashed beyond recognition. I don’t know what they’ll do with it, but – hey – what’s a ring finger anyway? It’s never used, isn’t it? So don’t you worry...” he trailed a little off as he saw the expression in the dark eyes. Maybe this hadn’t been the best subject to start upon...

Kirk fancied that he was starting to get the hang of interpreting the minute details in the widening of the pupils or the smattering of chocolate brown iris; the twitch of an eyebrow and the slight slackening or tensing of vulnerable looking eyelids for he was almost certain that there was now panic in the gentle eyes; he felt like his heart would leap right out of his chest.

The slim nostrils of Spock’s nose were quivering slightly and his chest started to heave, while he stared so hard at Kirk that the Captain felt like an insect under observation.

The First Officer wanted something from him. Only... what was it? A minute flick downwards of the soulful eyes gave him a vague clue.

Kirk’s voice was rough, as he said, “Did you already see your hands? Did Bones show you?”

The bandaged chin very slightly canted to the left side; a negative answer. Kirk’s voice deepened as he said, “Do you want to see them?”

A slight narrowing of the eyes and a minute tilting of Spock’s chin towards his chest was all the answer he got – and everything he needed.

“All right. Just bear with me one moment, Mr. Spock. If it hurts too much you’ll have to tell me. Grunt, or something,” he said whilst sliding from the bunk and turning towards Spock’s hips that were framed by the hands in question.

He didn’t see the slight twitch of the eyebrow that would have told him the indignity Spock felt upon the suggestion to ‘grunt’ for he was struck by the image of the delicate Vulcan hands.

He had refused to take a good look at them and almost hoped now that he still were oblivious.

They were mottled in bruises in different shades of green. Some of the fingernails were missing and there were long gashes – sewn shut with some nearly see-through thread. The hands were impossibly swollen and glistening with the unhealthy sheen of internal inflammation.

Kirk slowly closed his eyes and had to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Spock...” he began. He wanted to convince him not to look, but the desperate determination in the eyes of this gentle being cut his words short.

He sighed then shoved his right hand as carefully as possible under Spock’s right palm. He had often felt the higher-than-human heat from the Vulcan; nonetheless, he nearly snatched his hand back in surprise as it came into contact with the searing heat of the inflamed tissue. His lips opened slightly and he stared at the lifeless hand until a jolt went through his body and one sentence flittered through his head, ‘I won’t be taking you for granted anymore, Mr. Spock.’

Kirk squared his shoulders in the authority of a Captain and raised his eyes determined to Spock’s. The jaw of the Captain jutted slightly forwards in a gesture of stubborn defiance and he slowly, gently raised the arm up until Spock could see the state his hands were in.

 

Spock stared for another few seconds back at his Captain’s bright hazel eyes. The shock that he was not able to feel Kirk through the hand-on-hand contact – neither the emotional state of the man, nor the actual tactile touch of the strong, calloused fingers – still had him reeling and he sucked up eagerly every drop of encouragement Kirk’s self-assured behaviour could give him. Then, finally, his eyes slid towards his right hand that was being delicately held by his best friend.

His throat constricted, while the synapses in his brain fired in all directions – none of them controlled by the Vulcan due to the chemicals still infesting his body.

A tight, undignified sound escaped his throat, which could only be labelled as a ‘woeful whimper’, while his eyes roamed over the swollen, bruised mess that had once been his right hand. The long fingers were mostly straight as an arrow – McCoy wasn’t doing anything by halves – but the keen Vulcan eyes still made out so many flaws... It gave the perfectionist Science Officer nearly physical agony to keep on looking.

He seemed to have totally zoned out for a few moments for he actually gave a slightly startled flinch as another hand entered the picture. The healthy, golden hue told him enough of whose it was, but he nonetheless had to blink a few times in order to get it into focus – and when had his eyes become this moist?

The degrading crossfire of information inside his head came to a shrieking halt as Kirk curved his second hand as delicately as the first around the swollen, limp hand in his grasp; almost completely shielding the green-and-ivory flesh from view.

Kirk’s hands always had been much more sturdy than his own. They were the hands of a worker – not a scientist or artist. His were hands that spoke of a lifetime spent in Iowa, working hard on a farm as well as depicting horrifying months spent on the planet of Tarsus IV.

They were hands with thick, callused fingers and sturdy, gold brown skin. Nothing like his own were – or had been. But in Spock’s overwhelmed mind there were no two things at that moment that would have matched better.

He slowly raised his eyes towards the expressive hazel ones of his Captain and mourned the fact that he had never been able to read the emotions from the human faces surrounding him. They were practically there for the taking – had always been. But he always had relied more on the information he could glean from the direct source through the close proximity. After all – it was more fail-proof.

Never before had he been so remiss in educating himself.

 

So Spock stared at Jim and Jim was staring right back. Every now and again the soft brown eyes were flickering towards their hands and back to the bright eyes that were sparkling with fierce determination; daring him to flinch away or refuse to accept anything but the prospect of total recovery.

As McCoy walked into the room and let out a startled ‘Woah, there!’ Jim didn’t let Spock’s hand fall like he was a guilty schoolboy. He calmly gazed back into the Vulcan eyes, willing him to keep calm and optimistic. Only after seeing the millisecond of acceptance in the minute twitch of the right eyebrow and the fluttering of the startlingly long lashes as Spock’s eyes closed, did he carefully and oh-so-gently lower the damaged hand back on the bed.

Spock didn’t open his eyes again. Even while McCoy was checking vital signs and other information for a last time or injecting him with a substance that would let him fall asleep they didn’t open.

Only when Nurse Chapel came into the room in order to help the Doctor carry the patient into the operating room and Kirk murmured ‘I’ll be waiting right here, Mr. Spock,’ did his eyelids flutter slightly.

Kirk knew this time without a doubt that Spock was profoundly grateful for the promise of the human’s company.

 

Kirk did exactly as he had told Spock. He hunted down a good chair as well as some reports that had been lying around for far too long and ensconced himself inside the small room in sickbay.

Every now and again he would look towards the clock and wriggle nervously from side to side, but all in all he kept remarkably calm and collected.

He never heard anything coming from the operating room McCoy, Chapel, M’Benga and Spock were occupying which he was determined to take as a good sign.

And what about it, if he occasionally had to massage his eyes wearily, because he was seeing soulful, dark eyes glistening with a wet sheen staring back from one PADD or two? It didn’t mean anything.

Nothing at all.

 

Three hours later the door swished open and Kirk nearly leaped out of his chair. He was glad that he checked himself in the last second for it wasn’t Bones, rolling the bed of his Vulcan patient back into the room, but rather Lieutenant Uhura, whose beautiful dark eyes were looking around in curiosity before settling on her Captain.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, sir,” she said. A slight smile was tugging at her lips. Manly pride stung, Kirk squared his shoulders and shot her a reproachful look.

“You didn’t, Lieutenant,” he said indignantly and tried not to fidget too obviously with the PADD in his lap.

The dark skinned woman made her way fully into the room, so the door swished shut behind her and her face sobered slightly, while she looked one more time around.

“Is Mr. Spock still...” She didn’t need finish her sentence. Kirk nodded slightly.

“Yes. They’re in there for hours already. But I think that it’ll be even longer before they show up again,” he said. He tried himself at his usual boisterous, carefree attitude, but the look Uhura shot him told him that he had failed utterly.

She clicked slightly with her tongue and contemplated her Captain for a moment or two, before turning around.

“Excuse me. I’ll be back shortly,” she said gently and was out of the door before Kirk has had the chance to utter another word. He shook his head bewildered and shoved his hand through the thick gold-brown hair on top of his head; it stood slightly on end after that. Especially that one rebellious lock that always insisted on falling over his forehead and giving him the look of a mischievous boy.

 

He wasn’t as startled anymore – he hadn’t been startled, period; he insisted stubbornly – as the door swished again five minutes later and Uhura came towards him.

On one hand she was precariously balancing a tray on which a steaming hot cup of coffee was placed and under the other arm she had tucked a thick chocolate brown blanket that was looking nearly obscene in its lushness.

Kirk’s jaw fell slightly open as the Lieutenant very efficiently set the tray down on the little desk on his elbow, plucked the PADD he was currently working on out of his fingers and spread the blanket with economic swiftness over his lap and abdomen.

“There you are,” she said, while laying the PADD back down onto his lap – his fingers were slack with disbelief and not able to grasp it at the moment.

Kirk knew that he was staring at the woman with a slightly opened mouth, but he just couldn’t get himself to close it or stutter more than a bewildered ‘Thank you, Lieutenant’.

Uhura smiled gently and shook her head.

“It’s my pleasure, Captain. Please tell Mr. Spock that I’ll be back in the morning before our meeting. And that I hope he is okay.”

She turned on her heels and strode out of the room, while leaving a totally disarmed Captain James T. Kirk behind.

Kirk blinked a few times before looking down onto the thick, warm blanket. He felt an inexplicable warmth in his chest. He tried to remember the last time a woman had been so... motherly. His own mother had been a nice, caring woman – no doubt about that – but after Tarsus... Kirk had had – difficulties, to put it mildly, that had prevented him from accepting her kindness and love. She had tried over weeks and months, but in the end had to accept her defeat. And now he was sitting here; a respected Starship Captain and Casanova and was calling himself a fool for getting all teary eyed over a blanket and coffee.

‘At least it’s not hot chocolate... I think I would throw myself out of the nearest airlock, if it was. How ridiculous would that have been?’

Nonetheless, the feeling of warmth and comfort that permeated his being at the very moment was nothing to laugh at.

‘Lieutenant Uhura... Another person, whose importance I seem to have totally underestimated,’ he thought dazedly, while picking up the report with one hand and the coffee with the other. He sniffed appreciatively before taking a little sip and closing his eyes for a moment.

He was a ladies’ man – no doubt about that – but he was no chauvinist. He knew that the Lieutenant had not had to do these things and that she hadn’t done it because she was a woman. She had done it, because she was the most compassionate being he had ever encountered – right on par with McCoy; the gruff, lovable bastard – and they both were, above all other things, friends.

‘Friends care for one another...’ he thought and sighed deeply. He put the cup aside, snuggled deeper into the blanket and then proceeded with his work. His soul was more at rest after Lieutenant Uhura’s visit.


	10. Chapter 10

Kirk shot up from his reclined position in the chair he occupied. The thick blanket from the Lieutenant slid from his shoulders down into his lap, while he looked around disoriented. The glowing number above the door told him, that it was a little over 2 o’clock ship’s time.

Dazedly the Captain rubbed with both hands over his face and wondered why the hell he had so abruptly awoken. His musings were interrupted by a muffled, breathless sound – the source of the nightly disruption.

The hazel eyes flicked over towards Spock’s bed and he was instantly wide awake and on his way towards the bunk – nearly tripping over the blanket in the process.

 

A few hours prior, the door had opened while he had been working on the second to last report and Doctor M’Benga and Nurse Chapel had rolled the bed with the unconscious Vulcan inside. Kirk had blinked a few times – surprised due to the sudden, nonchalant entrance – before getting to his feet and eagerly walking over to them.

M’Benga and Chapel had thrown tired, but amused glances towards the little nest Kirk had arranged for himself in the corner of the small room, but neither did comment.

“How did it go?” Kirk asked and tried not to be in Nurse Chapels way, while she hooked everything onto the panel above the sickbed and simultaneously glean more from the figure upon the bed. Chapel snorted slightly and shoved him gently – and with great respect; he was the Captain, after all – away in order to work uninhibited.

“Everything went rather well, if I can say so myself and – “ M’Benga started with his deep, cultured voice, but he was interrupted by the Southern drawl of McCoy, who was sauntering into the room as if he owned it – which he unfortunately did.

“Jim, let Nurse Chapel do her job and – what in hell’s holy blazes is this?!” He had caught sight of the Captain’s make-shift ‘watchtower’. His face got redder by the second with the temperament of a Georgian born man and he pointed an accusing finger at the Captain.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that airhead of yours, Jim, but I won’t allow that my sickbay is transformed into a nursery! Spock is a grown man, as well as you are! Show some dignity and go to your own quarters,” he groused, while stalking towards the abandoned chair and bending down, in order to pick the lush, brown blanket up. Kirk had the feeling that McCoy’s eyes would have popped out of his head, if they hadn’t been fixed with his optic nerves.

“Where did you get –“

Kirk picked the blanket out of McCoy’s grip and shot him a glare that was part amusement, part reproach.

“Lieutenant Uhura was so kind as to lend this to me. I would appreciate it, if you wouldn’t get blood on it, Bones,” he said as calm as possible. He was amused by Bones’ reaction, yes, but the comments had stung and he found his feathers ruffled.

Did he really behave ludicrous in his concern over the wellbeing of one of his crew? Well... He hadn’t camped in sickbay for any of the engineering squad or for one of the scientists or... hell he hadn’t even camped here before on the numerous occasions Spock had been brought in here.

So what had changed that he now had the urge to be here?

Kirk could feel himself go red in the face and he dropped the blanket in the chair as if burned. He felt ashamed. He behaved ridiculous and –

“Come here, Jim,” Bones said silently, clapping a hand on Kirk’s shoulder blade and guiding him towards the sickbed.

Kirk glanced towards Bones’ face and saw that something in it had shifted. He was no longer livid over the nest Kirk had made; rather he looked... ashamed of himself. Huh. That was new.

“Here, look. M’Benga did a great job. It’s looking much better, isn’t it?” Bones said, directing Kirk’s thoughts and eyes towards Spock, while M’Benga shot McCoy a proud grin that said ‘Couldn’t have done it without you’.

The three of them were leaning over the sleeping man, while Nurse Chapel left the room to get some well deserved rest.

In all honesty; one couldn’t see much, really, but what could be seen was looking promising – even Kirk as a layman had to admit it.

The arms were tightly bandaged from the elbows down to the very tips of the long, graceful middle fingers. One could see that the hands were still a bit swollen but not nearly as thick as before. The fingers were straight as arrows and seemed to be on their way to be as graceful and delicate as before.

Kirk blew out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

“Perfect...” he murmured and M’Benga shot him the same proud grin that slid a bit down on one side after a few moments of contemplation.

“Well, it’s _looking_ all right, but not all’s well, I’m afraid.”

Kirk shot him a concerned look, before he schooled his features into efficient professionalism and squared his shoulders.

“Report, Doctor.”

 

Kirk was standing on the very same spot beside the very same bed and its occupant now, looking down at Spock who was restlessly shifting on the sheets. It was obvious that McCoy had foregone the medicals that had made Spock sleepy and powerless the last couple of days. The special pillow which had restricted the movement of Spock’s head was gone as well; the jaw was healing well and Spock would only have to wear the tight bandages around the lower half of his face for about two more days or so – way shorter than Bones had originally predicted.

At the moment the eyes of the man were squeezed tightly shut and nearly silent but obviously strangled huffs of breath were coming out of his nose, while he writhed under the thin blanket that the medical ward provided. Every now and again a low moan was rumbling out of the depths of Spock’s chest and his knees would jerk upwards towards his stomach as if trying to block something.

Kirk stared for a few seconds dumbfounded at the tightly bandaged hands that were jerking spasmodically against the white sheets before his brain kicked back in and he gripped Spock at the straining upper arms.

“Spock! Spock wake up!” he said with his best Captain’s voice while avoiding to be kicked by long legs. He jerked his head back a bit as Spock – his body primed to listen to the commands given from his Captain – opened his eyes suddenly and stared at Kirk. It was unnerving to have the full battery of the liquid brown eyes suddenly fixed upon him and although the human couldn’t see Spock’s mouth, he was quite certain that the expression in them was rather dumbfounded.

Although Spock was still breathing heavily through his nose, his tense body slackened slowly until Kirk felt it was all right to let him go. He slowly sat on the bed beside the Vulcan and stared down at him until he realised that Spock wasn’t very happy with this arrangement.

‘Yeah, well... He’s just as proud as me. I would be throwing fits if everyone was gazing down on me for days...’ he thought self-deprecatingly and cleared his throat.

“Wanna sit up?” he asked with a low voice and grinned at the wry twitch of an eyebrow. He ordered the light to thirty percent then proceeded to grip Spock under the arms and help him to a sitting position. It was good to see the self-sufficient man once again in the vertical.

He was watching him keenly; Spock’s eyes were – despite his best efforts to eliminate it – filled with unnameable terror and every now and then a slight tremor would shudder through the lean body, causing the Vulcan to look down in his lap in shame.

Kirk had the vision of reaching out towards the gentle man and tipping his head back up, but curled his hands into fists before he could act upon the ludicrous notion. He cleared his throat again.

“Bad dream?” he asked with a low voice and watched in fascination as Spock’s face flushed a dark green – just visible as it peeked over the crisp, white bandages covering his lower face.

Spock didn’t react in any other way and so Kirk surmised that he had hit the nail right on its head. Of course he couldn’t ask what the dream had been about – well, he _could_ ask, but even he saw how illogical that would be – however, he still could make a very educated guess. Cold swept through him and his throat went dry.

‘Did he have dreams the last couple nights? Alone here without being able to move?’ he thought aghast and was taking in the gentle creature on the bed beside him.

He wanted to say... something... anything to take Spock’s mind of the no doubt horrifying images occupying that brilliant brain at the moment, but he couldn’t think of anything. Everything at the moment seemed to be linked to the horrible violation Spock had been subjected to and Kirk just couldn’t make himself start talking about the mission tomorrow – well, today, if one wanted to be precise.

It seemed far too trivial a thing in the face of a man desperately trying to hang on to every scrap of dignity while being subjected to the terrors in his own mind.

Spock, however, lifted the burden of making a decision from his shoulders by slowly lifting his arms until his hands were on eye level.

He stared at them and Kirk did the same.

It was now very silent in the dim, small room and neither of the men was certain if the silence was comfortable or not.

It simply... was, at this moment.

Spock’s hands were trembling minutely, while the nerves and muscles struggled to do their work and comply to the formidable will of the strong Vulcan.

Kirk’s gaze flew repeatedly from the trembling, slender digits towards Spocks face and back. He saw bleak despair in the big eyes and his heart constricted painfully.

“Spock. Don’t worry. Many of the nerves and muscles are newly grown and need to adjust themselves first. You can’t expect to just shrug of a procedure like this. You know that, right?” he spoke with a low voice, while he proceeded to curl his fingers into the material of his Starfleet-issued pants in order to protect the skin of his palms.

Spock didn’t really react so Kirk was not sure, if he had heard him at all. He watched with a sinking feeling how the eyes of his first officer slowly began to narrow, while the shaking in his hands grew worse. The expression in Spock’s eyes was one the Captain of the Enterprise would never again forget in his whole life.

The eyes of a man who had preached the value of every life form and its rightful place in the whole universe were filled with unnameable hatred and wrath that chilled Kirk to the bone.

 

Spock dimly wondered how humans were able to function with all these emotions and feelings and jumbled thoughts; they couldn’t neatly categorize everything like a Vulcan could after all. He vaguely thought that he had to give them way more credit than he originally had. It was a shameful thing to concede when one had worked as long with this species as he had; but he would never have been able to imagine the sheer madness raging right now in his body.

The dream had left him disoriented and deeply ashamed of himself. His mind shied away from jumbled, garbled pictures of himself on some cold floor, getting degraded and screaming the whole time for dear life. Somewhere inside he knew that he hadn’t shamed his race in this manner – that he had stoically kept his silence in light of the torture under the Andorians – but another highly illogical part of him insisted to torment him every time he slightly let his guard down.

It sprang upon his back like a monkey and refused to let him go; it just kept going and going and... that was, until Kirk had awoken him. Jim.

He would have been more thankful, if he had been sure that he wasn’t dreaming anymore. His overwrought brain shot every possible information – never mind if it was fake or factual – through his neurons. It didn’t help that his body slowly seemed to realise the dull pain emanating from his hands.

The effort of raising his arms shot throbs of agony along his biceps over his shoulders and into his neck, causing the muscles along the way to tighten to rock-hard strings of tissue.

When he caught sight of the tightly bandaged Vulcan hands, his head was blessedly clear of any thoughts and emotions for but a few seconds.

It didn’t last long.

‘Ra hasu...? (What is...?)’ he thought blearily. ‘Wilat hasu t’nash-veh el’ru? (Where are my hands?)’ The slight trembling of the foreign digits was disgusting. Hands should not be trembling. They should be the most precise working equipment one could have. Where were his hands? Spock was positive now that he still had to be dreaming; he still was in his nightmare.

He tried to curl his fingers and the only response he got was the slightly more prominent twitching of the long appendages on that foreign part of someone else’s body. These weren’t Kirk’s fingers or hands. He would’ve recognise his Captain anywhere. So what...

The slight burn crawling along his arm as the foreign fingers moved kick-started his brain with a vengeance.

These... these undignified things _were_ his hands! He reeled from the onslaught of strange feelings shooting through his body. Heat and cold were changing so rapidly within his being that he thought his bodily functions were about to give up.

The urge to open his mouth and scream his uncertainty and pain out was warring with the deeply ingrained teachings of his race; however, he was losing the battle fast as his jaw too began to shove spikes of white-hot ice through his brain.

‘This can’t be. This is not me. These grotesque things don’t belong to me,’ Spock thought desperately. He wanted to raise his eyes towards the vision of his Captain sitting near his bedside – another indicator that he still was dreaming; why would Jim be sitting at his side on the sickbed? – wanted to find some solace in the hazel eyes, but found that he just couldn’t drag his eyes away from the horrible vision in front of him.

‘They took everything from me. I’m a disgrace for my people. For Starfleet. For Captain Kirk. How should I function with these?’ Rage was clouding his formally oh-so-logical brain. The last thing he heard, before his vision went cold black was the concerned murmur of the Captain at his side.

 

Kirk sprang startled from the bed as a deep, pressured scream made its way out of Spock’s throat. He could actually see the strain of the tendons in the Vulcan’s neck as the man on the bed jack-knifed forwards, slamming his hands down on either side of his legs.

“Spock!” Kirk cried out and lunged for the Vulcan in order to seize his shoulders and press him back down onto the bed; what, if he damaged the new hands?

Spock’s eyes rolled back in his head like a spooked colt’s as the Captain tried to restrain his movements. In his head Spock was suddenly back on the floor of the Andorian ship; being held down via boots exerting insurmountable pressure on his shoulders.

Kirk had to realise that Spock was – despite his damaged state – still a formidable opponent. The sudden confrontation with a raging Vulcan warrior left him breathless as he crawled on top of the bed in order to weigh the struggling man down with his body. Kirk was hanging on for dear life, while Spock was bucking and struggling beneath him; deep, growling tones were emanating from his chest, giving Kirk the impression he was sitting astride a wild Le-Matya and not his Vulcan First Officer.

He wanted to call for McCoy, but the door already burst open; Bones only needed seconds to take in the scene; in moments he had a hypo in hand, but Spock was struggling too much; the Doctor couldn’t get near the flailing arms or legs.

“Try to keep him from struggling so much, damnit!” Bones growled, trying to get a hold of one bandaged wrist.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?!” Kirk shot back with impatience. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead and his strength was slowly fading.

“Damnit, Spock! Get a grip on yourself!” the Captain hissed aggressively, while slightly changing his grip on the straining shoulders. He didn’t realise that the thumb of his right hand got in contact with the silken, searing hot skin of the Vulcan’s neck, so he was totally unprepared for the sudden freezing of the body beneath him.

For the fraction of a second only laboured breathing was to be heard in the small room, until McCoy kicked into action and pressed the hypo to Spock’s tense neck. Kirk watched fascinated from his position atop his First Officer as the black pupils blew wide in reaction to the tranquilizer. The sudden silence was disconcerting and the pitiful pleading look entering Spock’s gaze left the Captain tense and unsure of himself. What was Spock pleading for?

‘What do you want you crazy Vulcan?!’ Kirk thought helplessly and wasn’t prepared for a reaction of Spock.

An ice-cold shudder ran along Kirk’s spine as the Vulcan slowly lifted his arms and lay his hands square upon Kirk’s chest.

The slanted eyebrows were twitching with an emotion the Captain could not identify and he was prepared to be shoved off from the lying man; therefore he nearly reeled back in horrified surprise as Spock slowly slid his hands up Kirk’s pectoral muscles and over his neck, until finally they enfolded the face of the Captain, whose eyes were nearly popping out of their sockets.

Kirk could feel the minute twitches and the shaking of the bandaged fingers upon his cheeks and jaw and swallowed hard. It was very disconcerting to be touched this way by another man – let alone his Vulcan First Officer – and his eyes nervously twitched towards Bones; the Doctor, however, just stood with an enigmatic facial expression off to one side. Bones could be as unreadable as a fucking Sphinx, if he wanted to. Damn him.

His attention was drawn back towards Spock as a high pitched whimper escaped the Vulcan. The pressure of the trembling fingers increased and they started to rub circles into his skin with convulsive movements.

It was as if the Vulcan was searching for something but could not find it. The huge, dark eyes looking pained up into the face of his Captain were disorienting for Kirk. Just moments prior this creature had been a savage warrior, primed to fight for his life with everything he had; and now he seemed like a little child, looking for comfort Kirk had no idea how to give.

“Get off of him,” Bones said quietly and Kirk was just too happy to oblige. He had to pry the clumsily grasping hands gently off his face, before climbing down from the bed. His arms and legs were shaking from the adrenaline still being pumped through his body.

Kirk watched as Bones got near the narrow bed and wanted to check on his patient; they were both unprepared for the way Spock shied away from Bones’ hands; especially after he had been so touchy-feely with the Captain. The Vulcan tried to defend himself with sluggish movements from the Doctor. One could hear within the small room the huffing breaths Spock was heaving through trembling nostrils.

Bones was gentle but firm in his movements; however, he let go of the distraught patient as soon as he had every information he wanted and was satisfied with it.

“What has happened?” he asked quietly. Kirk had to actively stop himself from shrugging lamely – a Captain did not shrug – while he still stared down upon Spock. He caught himself thinking how desperately he wanted his ever controlled First Officer back and instantly felt guilty for it. Spock was at the moment subjected to the substances still coursing through his body and therefore simply not able to behave as he normally did. Wasn’t it the duty of him – as his Captain and, more importantly, as is friend – to make sure Spock was eased back into the ‘real’ world as gently as possible? But how?

“He had a nightmare or something and then just freaked out, when he saw his hands,” the Captain said subdued, absently rubbing a hand over his hip where the knee of Spock had landed a formidable hit. Bones frowned slightly and leaned over Spock.

“Spock. Can you hear me?” He pronounced every word carefully and with an unnecessarily loud voice that for some inexplicable reason got Kirk’s hackles to rise.

“He isn’t some stupid little kid, Bones. He’s just drugged beyond belief. Let him be for the moment,” he growled and defensively crossed his arms over his chest when Bones looked up at him and lifted one eyebrow.

“Oh, so you’re the Doctor now, I take it?” Bones said acidly and righted himself indignantly. Kirk sighed and shoved his right hand through his thick hair, closing his eyes briefly.

“How about we just all go back to sleep. Spock is quiet again and no harm was done. Okay?” he murmured; he felt unbelievably tired in the wake of the now-gone adrenaline rush.

Bones stared at Kirk for a few more moments; again with that damned Sphinx expression of his.

As Bones spoke, he sounded placating as if talking to a lunatic, “Yeah, sure Jim. Just sit with him a little longer, will ya? I got the feeling it’ll do you both good.”

Kirk stared hard at the CMO and felt stupid for the heat rushing into his cheeks. He quickly turned away. “Yeah. Whatever,” he said as gruffly and manly as he could muster right now and stomped over to his chair.

He was making a show out of righting the little nest he had made himself, until he heard Bones’ slow and heavy steps and the swishing of the door.

Kirk’s shoulders slumped and he let his head hang down with a sigh.

‘What is going on here?’ he thought blearily and turned around as he heard the whisper of material behind him.

Spock had turned on his side, facing the Captain and watching him with intelligent, dark eyes. It was the first time since the attack on the First Officer that Kirk saw the familiar, penetrating gaze in the chocolate brown depths and he felt as if a huge boulder was being lifted from his shoulders.

He slowly walked back towards the bed.

“Hey, Spock. You’re with us again?” he said with a low voice and crouched beside the bed in order to be on eyelevel with the Vulcan.

The slow nod from Spock nearly made him sob with relief. The medicals must have helped to bring some semblance of equilibrium back into the gentle creature.

By God. Prior this whole mess Kirk had never realised, how dependent on Spock he had become. It was a humbling experience.

“Great. Any pain? I could get Bones back and –“ He trailed off as Spock slowly shook his head. The intelligent – but still a little cloudy – gaze fixed upon Kirk the entire time.

“Okay then. Anything else I could do for you?” he murmured and caught himself being totally mesmerized with this current, strange dialogue between himself and his First Officer. The last couple days had given him a new understanding of the minute details in Spock’s being and had fine tuned him to the quiet man, it seemed.

It was a strange feeling of togetherness he had never before experienced. The thought that it felt even more intimate than a sexual encounter made him shudder slightly and guiltily lower his gaze.

A silent rustle was heard and the next moment bandaged fingertips very tentatively – nearly undetectable – touched his cheek. Kirk instantly raised his hazel eyes back towards Spock’s dark gaze.

None of the two men were aware of the wondrous, shy, searching expressions in their eyes despite intently watching one another.

The near electric charge between them was dispensed when Spock visibly got a grip back on himself and brought the bandaged hand between their eyes in order to direct Kirk’s attention towards it.

Kirk’s heart was slamming heavily in his chest and he cleared his throat roughly, before saying a little too loud and with forced levity, “You want to hear about the surgery?”

Brown doe eyes were searching his face for something, before Spock nodded again.

Kirk blew out a long breath and contemplated the bandaged digits for some time, before saying, “M’Benga and Bones did a great job, you know. They did their best to restore everything, but you’ll have to be patient for all the nerves to spring back into action. Vulcan physiology is a bitch to work with – or so Bones assured me a few times,” he added wryly.

He was relieved as Spock took the news with the familiar stoic acceptance of a Vulcan male and closed his eyes briefly. Kirk really would have had no idea how to comfort another man – and a Vulcan one at that.

So he continued encouraged by Spock’s behaviour, “The bones of your left ring finger were the trickiest, M’Benga said. The joints were totally smashed and they had to implant an artificial one where your first joint was and – “

He wasn’t looking at Spock’s face as he took a gentle hold of the damaged left hand in order to better showcase what he meant. He pressed his thumb slightly down onto the first knuckle. “Here and – “ he slid the thumb down the slender, straight digit towards the second knuckle, “here. I didn’t even know it, but they had Scotty involved in making these, so they should function more than perfectly. You know Scotty – he doesn’t do things by halves.”

Spock was perfectly silent, watching as his Captain slowly bent his ring finger at both knuckles and realising the ‘but’ even before Kirk continued.

“But they unfortunately couldn’t do the same thing for the last joint. It was just unsalvageable,” he murmured, while his hand shifted so he was only holding Spock’s long fingers. His thumb rubbing slight circles over the joint in question without quite realizing the soothing motion he was doing instinctively.

“They had to stiffen the finger here,” he said and raised his gaze as the slight trembling of the hand in his grasp increased.

Kirk was unprepared for the mixture of profound sadness and disgust in the dark depths of Spock’s eyes as the Vulcan looked down onto their hands. For one wild moment the Captain thought that his touch was the trigger for the reaction, but he soon realised that these emotions were directed against Spock himself.

“Mr. Spock...” Kirk said, letting go of the hand and flexing his own slightly as if they hurt. He felt helpless in face of the pain emanating from the Vulcan.

Spock raised his eyes towards Kirk, when the Captain spoke his name. The two men were watching each other, unable to reach out; unsure how to behave without loosing their faces.

A slight tremble shivered through the lean body of the First Officer, causing Kirk to jump slightly.

“Are you cold, Mr. Spock? I’ve got something right here... ah... wait.”

The Captain knew he was babbling, but he just couldn’t help it. He turned around and strode to his chair where Lieutenant Uhura’s blanket was lying. He seized it and walked back towards the Vulcan.

Kirk felt unbelievable ridiculous while spreading the thick, warm blanket over Spock. He couldn’t remember ever doing something like this. He never had had the opportunity or even the desire to tuck in his many female companions; usually they were gone before something like that could happen.

Furthermore he had no fatherly instincts as far as he was aware and never had felt the need to develop them. All in all Kirk had thought himself not being capable for such acts and it was a mighty strange feeling to experience this now with none other than the stoic Vulcan First Officer of the Enterprise. He wasn’t sure if he liked the tender blossoming of... something... inside is stomach.

But in the face of the profound gratitude in Spock’s dark eyes as Kirk gently tucked the blanket up over the shoulders of the other man, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

His breath became a soft panting when he hovered so close over the Vulcan, smelling the clean, masculine scent, while his fingers were playing with the edge of the blanket near Spock’s neck. He couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet.

“It is from Lieutenant Uhura. It smells nice... like her I think. She’ll come in the morning and pay you a visit,” he murmured with a low voice. It seemed unnecessarily intimate.

Spock was just watching him with his dark, intelligent eyes, until he slightly tilted his head to rest his cheekbone for a few seconds on Kirk’s knuckles.

The Captain gasped slightly at the innocent contact that shot a spike of electricity through his being. He was unbelievably grateful when Spock lay back down and finally closed his eyes in order to sleep.

Kirk went back to his chair and plopped down. His head was pounding and he had to contemplate all the conflicting feelings that had rushed through him in the past hour or so.

‘You’re going to be the death of me, Mr. Spock,’ he thought wryly, looking over towards the sleeping man. Only the dark cap of hair was visible above the thick blanket, as well as a pointed ear peaking out.

 

A slight smile tucked at the corners of Lieutenant Uhura’s lips, while she watched her Captain across the conference table. He was nursing a hot cup of coffee and looked like death – which in and off itself wasn’t very funny – but she could think of one or two answers as to why Kirk had slept so little and that was reason enough to smile and innocently raise her eyebrows as he shot her a slightly irritated look.

The four of them – Doctor McCoy, Chief Engineer Scott, Captain Kirk and herself – were currently waiting for Mr. Sulu to arrive, so she had plenty of time to contemplate the man sitting in front of her as well as the Vulcan male she had left a few minutes ago.

When she had arrived at 0700 sharp in sickbay she was amused to see the two men totally zoned out – one in a chair, snoring slightly with his head tilted back against the headrest and the other huddled in the blanket she had lent the Captain.

She cleared her throat slightly and grinned as both of them instantly jerked awake. The Captain went beet red, while the First Officer didn’t really meet her eyes.

“Ah... Lieutenant. Splendid timing. I’ll just... ah... go and get a shower and some coffee and leave you two to it, shall I?” Kirk mumbled, while springing out of his chair, haphazardly righting his Captain’s tunic and shoving his hand through the thick, gold-brown locks; which didn’t exactly tame them, but rather made them stand more on end.

While Kirk shuffled out of the room like a schoolboy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Mr. Spock struggled into a sitting position considering the Lady in the room.

She looked over to him as soon as the door had closed behind Kirk and shot him a warm smile as he gestured with a trembling, bandaged hand in the direction of Kirk’s abandoned chair – offering her to take a seat.

Her smile slid slightly off her face as she saw how the dark eyes of the men flicked towards his bandaged hand and he snatched it with as much dignity as he could muster away and shoved it out of view beneath the blankets.

A slight flush crawled over the crisp, white bandages covering his lower face.

Uhura clicked disapprovingly with her tongue and went over towards the Vulcan.

“I’m glad to finally see you, Mr. Spock. I hope I’m not intruding?” she asked, while unselfconsciously taking a seat on the very edge of the sickbed. She registered the instant tensing of the lean body beside her hip and stared down at her lap, smoothing down her skirt while giving Spock time to compose himself.

When she looked back up again, he slowly shook his head in answer to her question. She smiled again.

“I’m glad. I see the Captain has gifted you with my blanket,” she nodded towards the item in question and quickly said, “Oh no, no, no! It’s my pleasure, if it can be of assistance to you, Mr. Spock,” as he was already reaching for the blanket in order to give it back.

He hesitated slightly, then nodded minutely, while staring down upon his lap.

“May I...?” Uhura asked, reaching towards Spock’s arm and curling her fingers around his bicep. The head of the First Officer jerked backwards, eyes wide in shock and only the firm grip of the Lieutenant prohibited him from extracting his arm in a likewise abrupt manner.

For such a small, delicate woman Uhura sure had a death grip.

The smile of the dark skinned woman – already a little brittle since witnessing the shameful retraction of the Vulcan hand – broke now entirely and she quickly let go of him.

“Excuse me. I didn’t want to be pushy...” she murmured. Spock slightly shook his head, but she could still sense the waves of tension radiating from the body after the unexpected physical contact.

“I just wanted to see your hands, Mr. Spock. May I?” she asked gently and felt a little dejected, when he slowly shook his head a second time after hesitating for but a moment.

Seconds ticked by without either of them moving. Uhura didn’t really know what to say at the moment. She had the feeling Mr. Spock had erected an even stronger wall around himself than was the norm for the reticent Vulcan, which broke her heart all the new.

“I’m glad that you’re back, Mr. Spock. Words can’t describe how glad,” she whispered and her large, dark eyes watched the slightly bowed head. Spock gave no indication that he had heard her, but she saw the slightly faster rising and falling of the chest under the flimsy hospital’s garment.

“Can I do something for you?” she asked hesitantly after a minute or two and continued with a very low, almost inaudible voice, “I really want to be your friend, Mr. Spock. I always enjoyed our little banter on the bridge and I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable with any of my more flirtatious moods. And I always had the feeling that we had some kind of... connection. Through the music we played. Or did I only imagine that?”

She spoke the question with a small voice and her dark, slender fingers slightly trembled in her lap. A few moments ticked by and she almost gave up on any interaction with the man after her faux pas with the touch, until he slowly raised his head, watching her with surprisingly calm eyes.

He pointedly looked to the clock over the door and then back towards Uhura. Her brows creased slightly. She didn’t understand at first what he was trying to say, but after a bit of contemplation she asked slightly unsure, “I should come back later? Is that, what you mean?”

A decided nod made her face lit up like a Christmas tree and she slid enthusiastically from the bed.

“You have a date, Mr. Spock. It would be my honour to pay you a visit after the conference with the Captain and the others,” she said, taking the invitation from the Vulcan as what it was – a peace offering.

She nearly skipped out of the room, leaving a Vulcan behind her who had a slightly bemused twinkle in his eyes.

 

And now she was sitting opposite her Captain and contemplated which nightly actions had kept him from his beauty sleep.

She didn’t dare ask the proud man this question – especially since he was her Captain and she always was unfailingly respectful, even if he sometimes behaved like a little boy.

However, she was sure that he could cope with a teasing smirk and a few fake knowing looks. She quickly lowered her gaze so she wouldn’t laugh out loud as the red flush once again started to creep up his thick neck and into his face.

Finally the door to the conference room opened and Sulu quickly moved in. Without having to be asked he said, “Good morning, everyone. We will arrive in the orbit around Mektor exactly at 1330 ship’s time. It’ll be late afternoon on the planet. Approximately 1600.”

Kirk nodded and began the meeting. He felt the absence of his First Officer acutely but tried not to show it too much.

“Thank you, Mr. Sulu.” He looked towards Bones. “You’ll be in charge of all the medical things. Scotty will help you with organising the transport of the medicine down to the planet in an orderly fashion. You’ll assemble a medical team of your own who’ll help you administer the necessary treatment and educate the Doctors on their planet as to how to use them and prevent another epidemic as this.”

Bones nodded curtly. He already was scribbling something on his PADD and leaning towards Scotty in order to start the difficult task of the organizational process.

Kirk turned towards Sulu. “Mr. Sulu, you’ll have the Captain’s seat while I’m on the planet and try to pry some information out of their leader.”

Sulu nodded solemnly. At last, Kirk turned towards Uhura. “You’ll be accompanying me, Lieutenant Uhura.”

A slightly startled jerk went through the body of the woman and she tilted her head to one side. Had she heard correctly?

“Excuse me, sir?”

Now it was Kirk’s turn to smile teasingly.

“You’ll be accompanying me, Lieutenant. The universal translators aren’t nearly as good as you and I want to know every little nuance in their speech and body language. Furthermore you are quite the accomplished negotiator,” he said brusquely, but the glint in his hazel eyes was distinctly tender. He didn’t say that he also thought that no one would dare intervene with a Lieutenant Uhura, who was out for revenge – he didn’t have to.

Uhura was quite speechless after the unusual compliment. She almost never got to participate on the missions of the away teams because her language skills seldom were of use for the boisterous Captain. She was therefore all the more thankful to be able to assist in unearthing the mystery behind this whole rotten mess.

“Thank you, Captain,” she whispered. He nodded slightly and murmured, “It’s my pleasure, Lieutenant.”

After a few seconds filled only with the heated debate of one Scottsman and one Georgian Doctor over one thing or another – they both had quite the attitude and it was usually highly amusing to listen to them – Kirk cleared his throat.

“All right. You heard Mr. Sulu. 1330 we’ll be going down and stir them up a bit. You all know what to do and I’ll expect you to be completely prepared by then,” he said with the usual authority in his soulful voice and got up with everyone else in order to leave the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAahhh... the angst... <3 xD
> 
> Also: Please note, that I'm no doctor... I just have a raging imagination.


	11. Chapter 11

“Did you contact the Mektorians, Lieutenant?” Kirk asked, as he entered the transporter room and saw Uhura standing to one side with Doctor McCoy, talking to him.

She looked up and raised one eyebrow, looking slightly miffed.

“Of course I did, sir. They’re eagerly awaiting us and the medicine,” she said primly. Kirk smiled slightly and murmured, “Of course.”

He looked around the room. It was pretty full with various crewmen and –women as well as boxes full of the needed equipment. Bones was taking five members of the medical staff with him down to Mektor as well as two security guards – one could never be careful enough.

His own party would be way smaller – only Uhura, two security guards and himself. He didn’t want to alarm the leader of the Mektorians by arriving with full military force.

He turned towards Bones and clapped a hand on the shoulder of his oldest friend.

“You’ll probably be longer down there than us. You’ll get into contact with us on 1800 sharp, so we can discuss further actions. If you miss the appointed time I will be down there with a few men from security,” he said, a grim expression on his face.

Bones raised his eyebrows.

“You think that is necessary?” he said slowly. Kirk looked contemplating off to one side and murmured, “I hope not, but I won’t take any chances. They’re involved somehow in what has happened to Mr. Spock, Bones. That’s reason enough for me to be on my toes at all times.”

Bones’ expression went solemn and he nodded.

“1800 sharp, Captain.”

Kirk turned towards the Chief Engineer standing behind the console.

“Everything ready, Mr. Scott?”

“Aye, sir. Who’ll be beaming down first?”

“My own landing party.”

 

Lieutenant Uhura was watching her Captain intently. He seemed tense and unhappy. It was no wonder, really. The current situation was anything but ideal and she realised that it was the first time in a very long time that Captain and First Officer were not together while beaming down on a foreign planet.

Which brought her to the short visit she had paid Mr. Spock earlier like she had promised. She had been pretty startled upon entering and not finding the Vulcan in his bed. A quiet rustle of fabric to her right, however, showed her that he was merely walking along one wall, his head slightly tilted downwards and his bandaged hands in the small of his back – not quite clasped together as usual; he didn’t seem to have the motor skills needed to do so, as of yet – as if he was contemplating something.

The beaming smile on her face was not entirely because of the fact that the Vulcan was once again up and about – a great picture in and off itself – but part of it came from the amusement brought on by his attire. Spock was wearing wide, grey tracksuit bottoms; as he turned around towards her and immediately came to an abrupt halt, Uhura could see the end of the knotted string that helped in keeping the garment on the slim hips of the tall man. Furthermore he was wearing a black thermal T-Shirt.

Uhura had to admit that he was making an oddly compelling sight, standing there tall and proud with the unusually casual clothing, while the lower half of his face still was bandaged as well as his hands that he – now that he had caught sight of her – was carefully making sure nothing could be seen.

He was looking down at himself and raised one so eloquently sardonic eyebrow that the Lieutenant had no other choice than to chuckle slightly.

She never had met someone who could express contempt over undignified attire with an eyebrow twitch as well as Mr. Spock. He was bound to hate the clothing coming out of the recesses of the medical bay storage rooms; but he probably had not been able to argue much with the unfortunate Nurse presenting him with this new attire due to the hindering bandages.

After these first moments of confusion they both had found their equilibrium and started to talk – well she had talked and Mr. Spock had prowled the little room, listening intently to her report regarding everything they had found out up until this point. Uhura didn’t say anything about the constant prowling. She imagined that the Vulcan had some pent up energy that he needed to walk away. She also didn’t say anything about the fact that he made sure his hands were tucked away at all times behind his back.

And she did never say anything about the way he always kept a little, careful distance to her; but it nonetheless filled her with a profound sadness for this gentle being who got so badly burned from this horrible experience that he even kept his distance towards someone as unintimidating as Lieutenant Uhura.

 

As they arrived on the planet’s surface, the first thing Kirk noticed was the stifling heat, weighing instantly down on him. Mektor was a hot, arid planet due to its close proximity to the two suns.

Therefore it was no big surprise to realise that the natives had taken to living underground in elaborately carved tunnels and rooms. The people themselves were humanoid but on average bigger than the humans on the Enterprise. The males all were bald and had intricate tattoos on the skin of their scalps that were glowing almost hypnotic in all kinds of colours.

There was a small gathering of these people on the barren area Kirk and his crew teleported to and as soon as they had made their way towards them in order to clear the spots for the other team – which had to be split up due to the limitation of beaming only six people at a time – the biggest of the Mektorians stepped forward. He was wearing an airy robe that was perfect for the hot climate of their planet.

He bowed down low before Kirk who was a little dismayed to realise that the other man was nearly two heads taller than himself.

“I greet you, Captain Kirk. My name is Jin’xar and I am the leader of our people. It is a great honour to have you and your formidable crew on our planet. We can’t thank you enough for the assistance you are providing for us.” The voice of the man was dark and mellifluous. Kirk forced himself to display his most charming smile.

“No need to thank us. We are just doing our job. May I introduce Lieutenant Uhura, our Communications Officer, as well as Mr. Brown and Miss Dink from our security staff,” he said, while gesturing towards each person in question. He was getting impatient – he never had had the head for all these political niceties – but he was keeping himself in check.

During their exchange, Bones and his landing party had arrived. His medical staff was beginning to conduct the beaming of the equipment and medicine they needed, while the Doctor sauntered towards them with a distinctly unimpressed expression on his craggy face.

As he strode nearer, Kirk could hear him mutter, “Damn hot place...”

Kirk decided not to react with the snort he instantly wanted to make and said instead, “And this is Doctor McCoy who’ll conduct everything regarding your physical needs.”

Jin’xar smiled broadly and held his empty hands up.

“Splendid. I can’t thank you enough. Please, Doctor. Feel free to ask for anything you’ll need. My assistant In’kur will be at your side for every second of your stay and he’ll make sure you won’t be missing anything,” he intoned and indicated another male, who had sidled up towards them. In’kur was bowing deeply, murmuring a greeting.

McCoy nodded briskly and turned around on his heels, stomping back towards the area where the equipment was appearing – In’kur following quickly.

Kirk turned towards Jin’xar with a beaming but completely false smile.

“How about we go somewhere a little less heated and – “

“Ah yes. I will personally show you and your crew around, Captain,” Jin’xar cut in. His tattoos were glowing in an intense magenta tone. Kirk was a little thrown off his game by being cut off and had to clear his throat.

“Ah... yes. Please do,” he murmured and shot Uhura a look, while the leader of the Mektorians turned around sharply and proceeded to walk with long, ground eating strides towards the entrance of their underground world. Uhura wasn’t looking back at her Captain. Her slender, black eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and Kirk could almost see the wheels turning behind her eyes.

He left her at it and followed Jin’xar towards the unimpressive, small hill with a narrow opening at its base, that seemed to be the only landmark in the middle of this flat, barren land.

 

A couple hours later Kirk had to grudgingly admit that the architecture of the Mektorians was, despite the featureless entrance to their caves, rather elaborate and ... fascinating – he tried not to admit how his mind wanted to shy away from Mr. Spock’s favourite word.

Everything was being lit up via the fluorescent light of long lamps attached to the ceilings. The walls were magnificently carved and depicted as far as Kirk could tell, the gods that were so important for the Mektorians and Prechtans. Their faces were all around benevolent, smiling and welcoming. It felt rather tranquil if a bit eerie because of all the faces watching them.

It was an unexpected experience for a man who only frequented the Enterprise’s chapel when he had to conduct one ceremony or another.

During the long walk through the huge underground community they came across at least sixteen massive rooms that contained churches – if he understood the relentless prattle of Jin’xar right, every God of theirs had their own church. He wasn’t all that interested, though; after two hours he started to get more words in than the occasional ‘hmm’ and ‘aha’ he had thrown into the conversation until now in order to try and stem the tide of one sided prattling a bit. He really wanted to get to the point.

However, right before Kirk was about to loose his cool and demand that they sit down and discuss the important facts, Jin’xar halted and threw the four humans in his wake a gentle smile.

“I think it is time now to freshen up a little; I have the feeling that you have something on your mind, Captain. I don’t want to keep you waiting if it is important,” the leader of the Mektorians said, while the intricate patterns on his head slowly pulsated in a soft light green.

Kirk’s eyebrows twitched slightly and he felt his hackles rise. So Jin’xar had known all along that he just wanted to speak to him and still had them dragged hour upon hour through this maze. He ground his teeth but refrained from speaking his mind. Now was not the time to get the leader on his bad side.

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” he said curtly and squared his shoulders slightly more, while tilting his chin up with a proud air of defiance.

Jin’xar smiled again and opened a door to their right, leading the little party into a room that was as ornately carved as all the other rooms had been. The curious mixture of technology and something oriental that had struck Kirk already upon entering these caves as oddly beautiful, was also present in this chamber.

“Please take a seat. Eat and drink as much as you want,” the Mektorian said, gesturing towards two lush couches that were facing each other. In their middle stood a broad table that seemed to strain under the weight of the liquids and fruits upon it.

Everything seemed to be as juicy as possible; understandable if one lived in such an arid environment. Kirk and his crew poured themselves from the liquid and they made a show out of drinking it; however, they have had enough away missions by now to know that they would not imbibe anything from a foreign planet – so they didn’t actually consume it.

Kirk and Uhura took their seat on one of the couches, while the two members from security placed themselves right behind them.

Jin’xar sighed as he folded his tall frame on the couch opposite and took his time to arrange his airy robe.

“Captain Kirk. How can I help you?”

This was the moment of truth. Kirk had contemplated how to answer this question since he had known of the involvement of the two planets with what the Andorians that were currently residing in the brig of the Enterprise, had done.

It was an ungrateful decision to make; every course of action seemed to have their share of positive and negative outcomes. He took a deep breath and looked Jin’xar straight in his bright eyes.

“On our way here we encountered a little... problem. Since then we have discovered that this problem is linked to your neighbouring planet.” He paused slightly, watching Jin’xar intently, but the leader only lifted one eyebrow in mild enquiry and tilted his bald head that was flickering one more time magenta towards Kirk.

“What can you tell me of Prechta, Jin’xar?” he asked a little lamely. He looked towards Uhura out of the corner of his eyes.

She had her dark hands folded in her lap and was listening intently, her head slightly tilted to one side and a pleasant, little smile on her lips. The look in her eyes, however, was keen as it was fixed upon the leader of the Mektorians.

Said leader slightly straightened his spine. The corners of his lips tilted minutely downwards.

“There isn’t much to say, Captain Kirk. Prechta is our sister planet. They have our Gods – however, their relationship towards them is quite the opposite from ours. While we see them as benevolent, kind and peaceful – “ he gestured with one big hand towards the laughing faces around them, “ – the Prechtans see them as wild and conquering. It is no surprise that we don’t get along well. We have almost no contact to one another.”

Kirk noticed the slight flicker of the eyes off to one side and squared his shoulders.

“With all due respect. We have been attacked by a group of individuals that have been ordered to do so by the government of the Prechtans, it seems. They obviously wanted to hinder our mission of bringing the medicine to you. Why would they do that, if there was ‘almost no contact to one another’?” he said confidently and had to suppress a triumphant grin, as Jin’xar’s face slightly fell for one second before he got a grip back on himself.

“I... I don’t know, Captain. That’s the first time I hear something like that. I assure you I knew nothing of their plans, nor do I condone them in any way.”

Kirk couldn’t tell anymore, if the colour of the patterns on his head were rather a deep magenta or brown tone.

His eyebrows drew together angrily and he opened his mouth to attack further and try to deepen the crack he had made earlier in Jin’xar’s thick hide, but a slight touch on his wrist made him pause. He looked towards Uhura, who was smiling at him.

“The Mektorians are very honest people, Captain. They wouldn’t lie to you, you know. At any rate Mr. Sulu is probably very impatiently waiting for you to take back the command. We should go back to the Enterprise,” she said gently. Kirk could see the relief in Jin’xar’s posture out of the corner of his eyes.

He gazed intently into the dark eyes of the Lieutenant and fought an internal battle that struggled with his need to push the Mektorian until he gave him what he wanted and the trust he had placed upon his crew and their gut feelings. He sighed nearly inaudible.

“You are right, Lieutenant.” He turned towards Jin’xar, bowing deeply before the tall man just like he had done when he had greeted the Captain. “I must apologize if I have offended you in any way, Jin’xar. That had not been my intention.”

“I understand, Captain. No leader is at ease when one under his charge has been injured,” Jin’xar said, whilst standing up and leading the way towards the door. He didn’t see the stiffening of Kirk’s spine or the nearly panicked look he was exchanging with an equally baffled Lieutenant Uhura.

 

“That bastard lied right in our faces!” Kirk hissed as soon as the door of conference room number 3 had closed behind Lieutenant Uhura and himself. He had to suppress the urge to ram his fist into the nearest bulkhead. He positively vibrated in his agitation and stalked rapidly from one corner of the room to the next.

Uhura watched silently while the Captain tried to reign in his feelings; she used the few moments to put her own thought back in line. Until that fateful sentence from Jin’xar she only had had a vague feeling of something being ‘off’. But now it was official due to the fact that they had never mentioned, that ‘one under Captain Kirk’s charge’ got injured.

Somehow the Mektorians must have gotten wind of it. But how? Kirk finally stopped in his frantic pacing and turned towards Uhura.

“You know something, don’t you?” he asked and came nearer. Uhura tilted her head slightly.

“Maybe. I think the colour of these tattoos is an indicator of what they are feeling. I don’t know the exact spectrum, but I made an educated guess; I think he genuinely didn’t know anything of the attack prior to it’s happening. And I think that he genuinely doesn’t condone what has happened. But everything else – “ she spread her dark, empty hands out in front of her, “ – everything else is guesswork. I need more information on these colour patterns. Maybe Doctor McCoy and his team can provide me with additional information.”

Kirk nodded slowly and looked towards the clock above the door.

“He’ll contact us in two hours. You can be at the Communication’s Station and get the call yourself if you want to, Lieutenant,” he said and Uhura nodded vigorously.

“At any rate, there is more I wish to discuss, Captain – “

She was interrupted by the whistle of the intercom.

“Sickbay to Captain Kirk.”

Kirk’s whole body jerked and the hazel eyes that had been hard and unyielding up until this point instantly got wide and strangely vulnerable. He quickly went over to the intercom panel and pushed the button.

“Kirk here. What is it?”

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you, sir, but it’s Mr. Spock; we seem not to be able to – “

“I’ll be with you in a couple minutes.”

He turned towards Uhura and straightened his golden tunic.

“I’m sorry Lieutenant. Please keep in mind what you wanted to say until I come back from sickbay,” he said politely. Uhura nodded.

“Of course, sir. I hope there is nothing major,” she said softly and watched Kirk leaving in a hurry with a calculating gaze.

 

Kirk nearly ran into Nurse Chapel upon entering sickbay in a mad dash. He immediately righted himself and shoved a hand through his mussed hair in order to tame it – and utterly failing at that. He had to force his face into solemn lines as he met the surprised gaze of the Nurse.

“So... what’s the matter?” he asked as casual as possible. The Nurse shot him a soothing smile and indicated for him to follow. She led him into the office usually occupied by Bones and closed the door securely behind them.

“Well, sir. It’s a rather... ah... delicate matter, to be quite frank,” she began upon seeing the impatience entering the Captain’s hazel eye. A twitch in the corner of the pale pink lips showed that he wasn’t in the least pleased with this vague non-explanation and she hastily continued, “You see, Mr. Spock has taken to walking around the empty sickbay rooms – which is in and off itself no problem; on the contrary it is only to be encouraged for someone in... his position... to regain his physical faculties as soon as possible in order to tackle the psychological ramifications, but...”

She hesitated another moment and Kirk’s lips pursed.

“’But’ what, Nurse? I haven’t got all day, you know! In case it slipped your mind, I’m the Captain of this ship and I have enough things to occupy my time. You don’t have to burden me further by being unnecessarily cryptic and obstinate in giving me the information I require,” he hissed aggressively. Nurse Chapel’s eyes narrowed slightly and she squared her shoulders. She wasn’t offended by the Captain’s tone – not really, anyway. Doctor McCoy could be ten times more acidic on his best behaviour, so she had built a thick hide long ago.

“The problem is that Doctor McCoy ordered me to remove the bandages on Mr. Spock’s face and rewrap his hands, but Mr. Spock is refusing to let anyone of the medical staff near him. Not even Doctor M’Benga had been able to convince him to do so. Short of forcing him into a corner and tranquilize him we have tried everything we could think of. Both Doctor M’Benga and I are certain that it would be detrimental to Mr. Spock’s health if we were to act upon this last resort. So we... that is Doctor M’Benga thought... well,” she took a huge gulp of air and said it as quickly as possible, “We thought you’d be able to do the tasks, sir. Mr. Spock seems to be quite attached to you.”

Kirk’s spine stiffened in masculine indignation and he felt a blush creep up his neck.

“’Attached to me’? What exactly do you imply, Nurse Chapel? And did you really just now ask your acting commanding Officer to do YOUR duty as a member of the medical staff?” he positively raged, pride stung and crossed his arms tightly across his chest unaware that the gesture was looking more defensive than intimidating.

He was unprepared for the tall Nurse to straighten her spine in reaction and looking at him so hard that it nearly gave the impression she was looking down on him.

“I imply nothing, sir. I merely state the fact that Mr. Spock seems to find some sort of solace in your presence. Why that is I can, quite frankly, not fathom, because right now you’re acting like a self-righteous idiot, sir. Your best friend and First Officer is needing your help and you are standing here pretending wounded, masculine pride and – “

“That is quite enough, Nurse Chapel. I will take over from here. Thank you,” M’Benga’s dark, cultivated voice cut the rant of the Nurse quite effectively off. Nurse Chapel seemed to deflate and lowered her gaze.

“I... I’m sorry,” she murmured. Kirk didn’t answer. He was too shocked by the outburst of the normally compassionate woman. Then again he seemed to remember some gossip saying that she had pined for Spock for years now. In light of that and the difficulties Spock was going through at the moment...

“Captain.”

Kirk’s hazel eyes blinked a few times and he looked towards M’Benga. Nurse Chapel was gone and he had the distinct feeling that the Doctor had addressed him a few times before he had come out of his stupor.

“Doctor M’Benga,” he mumbled and forced himself to meet the gaze of the older man. The Doctor was slowly looking him over and then clasped his hands in front of his stomach.

“Nurse Chapel was out of line and I will deal with her accordingly later. I hope that you can find it in you to overlook her mistake – she wasn’t quite herself since Mr. Spock was brought to us,” he spoke with the calm, practiced authority of someone who dealt with stubborn Vulcans for nearly over a decade. Kirk had to admit that it was soothing in the face of all this madness. At least someone seemed to know what to do.

Kirk rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“I was behaving out of line myself. I won’t be instigating any disciplinary actions,” he said and reluctantly met M’Benga’s gaze.

“Why isn’t he letting anyone near him? That doesn’t sound like Mr. Spock at all. It seems pretty illogical to refuse help of experts...” he trailed of in the face of the enigmatic look M’Benga was shooting him.

The Doctor turned around and walked towards McCoy’s desk where he sank down in the CMO’s chair and gestured towards the one opposite. Kirk only too willingly accepted the offer. Since Nurse Chapel’s outburst he had been feeling embarrassingly weak in the knees.

“Well, Captain. I thought that would be obvious, but sometimes I’m not seeing the layman’s perspective of things anymore, so...” he shrugged slightly, holding the empty palms of his hands up as if to offer peace. He then clasped these very hands together in front of him on the glinting surface of the well-loved desk and eyed Kirk.

“You have seen first hand what has been done to Mr. Spock, Captain. He is quite a strong and stubborn man – even more so because he’s half Vulcan. But stubbornness and strength aren’t always helpful when it comes to overcome such deeply invasive traumata. Quite the contrary – they can lead to serious psychological scars because of his refusal of the fact that he has been and still is... a victim. He’ll try to bury it as deep as possible and pretend nothing had ever happened, but I’m sure that you can imagine this is the least healthy course of action, Captain. In fact it could lead, in the worst case, to Mr. Spock’s forced retirement from Starfleet,” he said, watching Kirk intently for any reaction.

Bleak despair entered the hazel eyes at his last statement and he leaned across the table towards the silent man – he sensed that he had touched a spot and was eager to seize it in order to slip under the hard shell surrounding his commanding Officer.

“The Andorians knew perfectly well how to torture a Vulcan. They cut off his mental abilities with which he would have been able to shield himself and then proceeded to violate someone from a race who only instigate physical contact with bondmates or family members. It is no wonder that Mr. Spock doesn’t want to be touched – at all. It is, as sad as that sounds, perfectly normal for a rape victim to behave this way. In my experience most people overcoming intense traumata will, eventually, reach out towards a well known person they feel comfortable with. I’m not long enough on the Enterprise to make a really educated guess about the psychological inner workings of a half-Vulcan, Captain, but if Mr. Spock is anything like the full-blooded Vulcans I had to deal with, he’ll fight tooth and nail in order not to loose any more face. However, I got the feeling that he feels connected to you in one way or another, which in and off itself we should regard as a very precious gift indeed in the face of these dire times. As far as I can tell you are the only friend he has on the Enterprise – at least as far as he is concerned.”

Kirk opened his mouth in indignant protest, “Mr. Spock has many friends on the Enterprise, he – “

“He doesn’t spent half as much time with them in his free time as he does with you,” the Doctor interjected calmly, still watching the Captain intently. When he saw the red blush creep up Kirk’s neck and the stubborn glint hardening the hazel eyes, he went in for the ‘killing blow’.

“No one is implying anything, sir. As far as the crew on the Enterprise is concerned, you and Mr. Spock are best friends. _Only_ best friends,” he stressed with his right index finger poking at the surface of the desk. He sat slightly back in his chair and continued almost casually, “But even if there _was_ more, sir... I don’t think anyone would comment. I mean – “ he shrugged, “ – same sex relationships aren’t as uncommon anymore. These things are not important. Not at the moment. What _is_ important now, is to somehow get under Mr. Spock’s skin and try to help him with his inner demons. Because if we can’t then I’m afraid that you will have to say ‘Good Bye’ to the best First Officer in Starfleet in about six months when the next medical routine checks are in order. Even as a Vulcan Mr. Spock will not be able to hide his dysfunctions.”

Kirk’s chest constricted painfully while he let all the information sink in that M’Benga had just loaded upon him. He never had thought about all the consequences Spock’s time with the Andorians could entail.

To be honest he had never really given the issue of a man being a rape victim much thought – it seemed so far out that he somehow automatically had come to the conclusion that Spock would simply shrug it off; that his only difficulties would be with the physical damage done. Like with his hands. The thought that a man as sophisticated and stubborn as Spock could be so affected by the happenings was, to be quite honest, frightening enough, but the thought of _loosing_ Mr. Spock was simply unconceivable.

The Enterprise needed him. The crew needed him. He, James Tiberius Kirk, needed him.

His mind shied away from the other implications of M’Benga regarding same sex relationships. His gut churned at the thought. He was no homophobe – by God he was not. He knew perfectly well that it was nothing big in this day and age. But he simply... he simply did not see himself that way. The thought made him... well, it made him afraid, he had to admit. The mere thought was threatening to topple over everything that was James Kirk. Or so he thought at least.

Hazel eyes raised towards the calm, enquiring gaze of M’Benga.

“I’ll try to help him. What do I have to do?” he said quietly. His voice was firm, but the hands he had tucked under the desk were shaking slightly. M’Benga didn’t smile – he very seldom did – but he was looking distinctly relieved, while he was producing salve and fresh bandages from out of the replicator and started on another monologue.

While Kirk listened to the dark voice, another corner of his brain thought that Starfleet couldn’t possibly prepare a Captain for all the issues and problems he was going to encounter on his journey with his crew. He was realizing that he still had to make an almost conscious effort to keep his mind and heart open for all possible hurdles but somehow the thought wasn’t as intimidating as it would have been a few days ago. The thought that he would learn... learn together with his First Officer... was solace enough.

Kirk wasn’t alone in this. He never had been and never would be. Not since he got command of the Enterprise and was accepted in the womb of all these highly intelligent people that were happy enough to follow him to hell and back.

‘Everything that was before is dead. I’m living since I came aboard,’ he thought and smiled slightly as the tension melted from his body.

 

Kirk couldn’t keep himself from snorting in amusement upon entering Spock’s room in sickbay and seeing the stern Vulcan in his unusual attire. The slanted, silky black eyebrows immediately drew together, expressing very eloquently what he thought of his Captain’s mirth concerning his choice of clothes – which had been, after all, not his choice but Nurse Chapel’s, who had refused to get him anything in the regulation style.

“Well, Mr. Spock. We meet again,” Kirk said and pretended not to notice the calculating look Spock was shooting the equipment clutched in Kirk’s hands. The Science Officer squared his shoulders and tipped his chin a little more upwards. The Captain’s face sobered as he saw the minute backwards step away from him and the tensing of the biceps under the short sleeves of the thermal shirt Spock was wearing.

Kirk turned towards the bed and spread the fresh bandages and salve upon it so that Spock could see everything he had brought with him. After a second of debate with himself he drew the sharp scissors out of the back of his regulation trousers and laid them down as well. When he turned back towards his First Officer, the dark, intelligent eyes were fixed intently on him and what he was doing.

Kirk floundered for a moment, searching for something he could be saying considering the slender man on the opposite side of the small room.

Both men were regarding each other nervously and unsure for several moments. Eventually, Mr. Spock slightly brought his head back down a little and huffed a nearly inaudible breath through his nose. Kirk was struck – not for the first time – how coltish some of Spock’s mannerisms were. Or was it just the way he had devised for himself in order to communicate with a race of people that could not communicate with him while he was not able to talk or gesture properly? In the end it was a moot point. Kirk took Spock’s reaction as some kind of uneasy acceptance of his presence in the room, claimed it like a price and ‘ran away’ with it, so to speak.

He burst out with the first thing that came to his mind, “My day has been very unsatisfactory, Mr. Spock. I’ve been through tons and tons of tunnels and rooms full of creepy, laughing faces just to be told in the end that I am – essentially – a dumbass and that I can kindly go and do some very improbable things to my anatomy; well, he didn’t say it like that, but the message was pretty clear to me. So I come back to my silver lady, ready to vent a little anger and discuss everything that has happened with Lieutenant Uhura, only to be brought here by one very distraught Nurse Chapel, who’s telling me that you aren’t the picture perfect patient that you usually are. Even M’Benga confessed that he’s at his wit’s end. Maybe I should be congratulating you for it, because I’m sure that hasn’t happened very often.” Kirk paused slightly, gauging Spock’s reaction, but the dark eyes were impenetrable and fixed upon the Captain with silent and polite interest.

This gaze was so much like the ‘old’ Spock – listening with the detached curiosity of a scientist to the illogical ravings of his commanding Officer – that Kirk simply could not get mad. The warm prickling beginning deep in his gut was way too pleasurable.

“So I’m here in sickbay – the Captain of this fine Starship – and let myself get lectured from M’Benga on how to properly apply the salve and the bandages, like I’m some first year medical cadet on Starfleet Academy. And all I’m asking from you now, Mr. Spock, is, that you kindly subject yourself to me and my embarrassingly inadequate fumbling so that I know that I at least made _something_ worthwhile today.”

Kirk was painfully aware that his voice had lowered itself until it sounded positively beseeching. Spock was still perfectly silent, watching intently the hazel eyes of his Captain as if trying to deduce his true motivations through the glint in the extraordinarily adaptable eyes alone – and Kirk wasn’t at all sure if that probably wasn’t exactly what Spock was trying to do.

At least the Captain was pretty sure that beneath the unmovable surface of the Vulcan there was a hell of a lot going on.

When Spock eventually took a tentative step towards Kirk and the bed, the human couldn’t suppress the slight smile curving the corners of his pale, pink lips upwards. For an instant Spock froze where he was standing, his dark, intelligent eyes wandering towards the smiling lips of his Captain. He blinked one time... two times... three times, very slowly and deliberately, than resumed his walk towards the man who had caught his breath without realizing it.

Finally only the narrow sickbed was between the two and Kirk gestured towards the edge.

“Would you please sit down? It’s going to be easier that way,” he said with a low voice. He refused to ask himself once again why, of all people on this ship, _he_ had to be the one doing all these things he had no inkling about – or why it was so strangely satisfying to know that he seemed to be the only one getting through Spock’s thick, stubborn skull.

Spock tentatively sat down on the very edge of the bed, seemingly ready to stand up and walk away if things didn’t turn out satisfactorily for him. His spine was very straight and he placed his hands after much hesitation openly upon his thighs.

He probably had come to the conclusion that it was illogical to hide them from Kirk who already had seen and also, yes, touched them.

“You wanna hear what happened down on Mektor? If you want to, I can try to describe their architecture. It was... ah... fascinating,” Kirk said after he sat down beside the First Officer with a gap of about twenty centimetres between them. Spock nodded stiffly, while staring straight ahead at the far wall.

So Kirk began to talk and his First Officer listened, while the Captain carefully started to cut open the bandages on Spock’s neck and jaw with the razor sharp scissors he had brought with himself.

He wasn’t really aware of what he was saying; he was concentrating more on not accidentally scraping the tender skin of the other man.

‘I can do this...’ he thought wondrous as he cut the last string without any incident or unnecessary shaking in the thick, strong fingers of his worker’s hands. He could see the strain of the tendons in Spock’s neck as he started to tuck the bandages away that had hidden the lower face of the first officer for the better part of a week.

It was no big surprise that there was black stubble upon his cheeks and jaw due to the fact that he hadn’t been able to shave for a long time. Kirk paused in his monologue and leaned forward in order to look into Spock’s face.

“Well? How is it?” he asked silently, while his eyes roamed curious over the whole face of his First Officer. Spock looked... well. There was probably no harm in admitting that the Vulcan was making an intriguing sight in that casual attire, paired with the stubble on his cheeks. It was quite the opposite to his usual collected, proper self.

Spock’s eyes slid away from his Captain and he turned his head slightly away while carefully trying to work his jaw a little. Kirk sat back again, giving his friend the privacy he obviously needed for the moment.

“Still tender, hm? M’Benga said that you should very carefully start moving it again. Nurse Chapel will bring some broth to you later on, so that you can start on food again. They gave you supplements through hypos, as far as I understand it, but... quite frankly, Mr. Spock, you can’t afford to loose another pound. It’ll do nothing for your looks, you know?” he prattled on, while he uselessly shuffled the rest of the utensils beside him from one side to the other.

There was no answer from Spock, but when he ventured a look back towards the First Officer, the dark eyes were keen and open.

“All right. So that first part wasn’t so bad, eh? I’m pretty sure that we’ll manage the last part just as well...” he murmured, reaching for one of the slightly shivering hands.

Spock jerked it away.

When Kirk raised his eyes towards the Vulcan’s face he could see that the silky, black eyebrows were drawn together in concentration and the elegantly bowed lips were slightly pursed in some kind of frustration.

Kirk looked back down and decided for another course of action. Instead of grasping the hand of the other man he flipped his own around so his broad palm was facing upwards, offering it to the Vulcan.

A few seconds ticked by, before Spock sighed slightly – really it was more like a minutely more prominent release of breath – and the slender hand was very carefully placed in the grasp of the Captain.

Kirk hesitated for but a moment, while he thought about all the other instances in which Spock had followed his Captain despite his better knowledge.

The human had to clear his throat, before he resumed with a slightly husky voice his monologue from before, while cutting open the bandages.

 

Neither of them realised Kirk falling silent as he carefully shoved the bandages away. They were both silently gazing down upon a slender Vulcan hand with long, graceful fingers. The skin had a green hue to it and was looking as tender as the skin of a newborn child. Kirk let the calloused pad of his right index finger gently glide along one of the long, deep green lines that ran along the back of Spock’s hand and indicated where the surgeons had not been able to avoid a more dramatic entrance into the alien body in order to set everything in its rightful place.

He heard a sharp intake of breath above him and looked up to find the intense gaze of the other man fixed upon him. A mixture of agony and despair in the dark depths. He quickly withdrew his hand.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” he murmured and slumped a little when Spock shook his head while still looking so.. desperate. One corner of the Vulcan mouth twitched ever so slightly and Kirk had the distinct feeling that he was keeping himself in check in order not to bite is lower lip.

“What... is it then?” he asked silently. Spock just shook his head again and gestured with shivering, twitching fingers towards the salve. A clear order for Kirk to ‘get on with it’.

 

It wasn’t the fact that this had been the first time Spock had seen these new hands that didn’t really feel like a part of himself as of yet.

It wasn’t even the fact that he had calculated the probability of the more prominent lines on his hands to leave scars to be a staggering 80% and it wasn’t the fact that it was so hard to be near another being, now that he could walk around again and had the choice to avoid any contact if he wished to.

It was the fact that the formally oh-so-sensitive nerves in his hands only let a dull, vague impression of the most primitive feelings of the man at his side through his being that made him almost completely loose his equilibrium at this moment.

Spock vaguely thought, while he tried to will the frantic fluttering of the heart in his side to a more relaxed rhythm that he even had felt more only through the touch of Kirk’s thumb upon his neck the night before.

‘Is it not enough that I had to struggle for my right of being Vulcan due to the human blood coursing through my veins? Have I been robbed of yet another part of my heritage? I’m not even sure anymore what makes a human and what makes a Vulcan... What _am_ I?’

 

Both men were silent, while Kirk started to massage the salve as gently as possible into the tender skin. He felt the tendons and muscles twitch under the rubbing of his calloused fingers and almost thought that he was hurting Spock, until the Vulcan slightly hunched his shoulders and let out a long breath.

Kirk chanced a glance towards him. Through the slightly more prominent slant of one eyebrow and the downwards turn of the left corner of his mouth he could see the deeply seated sadness in the chocolate brown depths. However, the relaxation of his posture indicated the surrender of some kind of battle. Kirk wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

The Captain nonetheless caught himself while tending to the second hand that he kind of... sort of... well. It was somehow rather... nice to be touching these graceful hands he had so often observed. The hot skin felt silky under his fingers and the intricate play between delicate bones and muscles struggling to learn again how to react with one another was fascinating in a way he never before had realized.

When all was finally said and done and Spock’s hands were once again surrounded by fresh, crisp white bandages, Kirk gathered all the no-longer-needed supplies into his arms.

“Well, Mr. Spock, I’ll be on my way then. It’s almost 1800 and – “ he was interrupted by the shy touch of Spock’s right hand upon his left bicep. He fell immediately silent and turned enquiring hazel eyes towards the man that had gotten up from the sickbed as soon as his unconventional ‘Nurse’ had given him the okay.

A shiver of electricity ran through Kirk’s body as the delicately bowed lips of the First Officer parted and he spok, “Thank... you...Jim.”

His speech was not in the slightest as precise as usual. It sounded as if he wasn’t quite sure as of yet how to move his tongue within the still smarting confines of his mouth. His already deep voice was sounding positively gravely after he hadn’t been able to use it for the better half of a week.

The shame of his less than eloquent articulation was plainly evident in the way the tips of his pointed ears flushed a deep green, but his dark eyes were defiant and stubborn as he stared at his Captain; as if he almost expected him to laugh at him.

Kirk smiled slightly and lowered his eyes first.

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Spock. Don’t mention it,” he murmured, before squaring his shoulders and nodding towards the other man.

“Until tomorrow.”

 

“We’ll have to stay here for a few days, I’m afraid. The infections are way worse than we had imagined,” came Bones’ annoyed voice through the speaker of the intercom.

Kirk leaned over Uhura’s shoulder and growled slightly.

“Bones I don’t think that is a good idea. Don’t you have any other alternatives? I don’t like the thought of you being down there with them,” he said a bit impatiently.

“Captain, may I?” Lieutenant Uhura softly piped in, while McCoy started on a rant of ‘who is the Doctor here?’. Kirk sighed and nodded.

“It may just be exactly what we need in order to decipher the colour language of the Mektorians, sir. Doctor McCoy and his medical team could keep an eye out for any changes. It would help me in analyzing our talk with Jin’xar. I already produced a transcription of the encounter. There are only a few pieces missing,” she said. Bones had fallen silent on the other end of the line in order to listen. Kirk bit his lower lip. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. But he was clearly outnumbered in this case, so they should try and get the most out of it.

“Well... all right. You heard the Lieutenant, Bones. Try and find something of value down there. And I want that you report back to the ship every two hours. Every. Two. Hours. No exception. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain. McCoy out.”

Kirk’s gut churned, telling him how unhappy it was with the decision he had made.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read with caution. Trigger warning.

Kirk’s bad day didn’t end there. He had been just on his way to the gym in order to vent some of his pent up frustration, when an emergency call had forced him to divert his way for the second time that day towards sickbay – this time, however, Mr. Spock had nothing to do with it.

Rather the culprit this time had been the Andorians in the brig. The guard on duty hadn’t paid enough attention and the prisoners immediately had taken the opportunity to try and commit suicide; seemed like the prospect of Starfleet getting their hands on them was more intimidating for them than they would’ve let on.

The struggle had been quickly fought back and they had been separated into different holding cells now – only one of the Andorian guards had to be brought to sickbay due to several broken ribs and a punctured lung. He would stay there for the next couple of days.

The Captain had had a long and heated talk with Security Officer Giotto. In the end, however, it became apparent that the Officer didn’t order the inexperienced Ensign to watch the guards; it seemed that there had been a last minute shift-swap and Kirk was only too happy to leave it to Giotto to sort his men out – if Giotto’s brick red face was anything to go by, the security staff wouldn’t dare to even squeak for the next few days.

So now it was nearly 2000 and Kirk could say ‘Good Bye’ to his plans of working out due to the fact that he now not only had to write a report to Starfleet regarding his unsatisfactory visit to Mektor, but also regarding the incident with the Andorians.

Kirk was – to put it mildly – seething.

He stomped through the halls of the Enterprise towards his personal quarters and just wished for this damned day to finally end. While he walked, he sometimes got a little to close to the sensors of the doors, so some of them swished open; he didn’t pay them any attention.

Until...

“...but every time I don’t have anything to occupy my mind with, I hear him scream again, you know? And when I close my eyes I can... I can see them punching him and stuff. It’s... I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean. I haven’t slept well the last few nights. I have all these nightmares. I wanted to go to sickbay for sleeping pills or some such, but I didn’t really have the nerve to do so. I mean I’d have to give them a pretty convincing reason to give me medicines, wouldn’t I? They’d probably look at my like I’m some kind of ... of maniac, y’know? Like ‘are you such a wuss that you can’t handle someone getting beaten?’”

While other voices murmured their acknowledgement to the last spokesman, Kirk slipped into the room and let the door swish shut behind him.

He was standing on Observation Deck 4 he realized, after slowly looking around. It was pretty dark – the light was very dim and only focussed on one part of the large room where a group of people sat in front of one of the large windows.

Kirk silently made his way over the thick, fluffy carpet towards the couches where seven people in total were sitting – no, they were slouching, rather. As far as he could tell, all of them were nursing some kind of beverage in their hands and they were looking into their glasses instead of out into the vast, dark void of space.

Kirk felt that electric prickling in the depth of his gut, shooting up his spine and causing the little hair in the back of his neck to stand on end as he recognised Uhura, Sulu and Chekov between the other four individuals.

It didn’t take more than a heartbeat for the Captain to realize that it was the Alpha-Shift crew that had been on duty as Mr. Spock had been captured.

Kirk kept just outside the dim light surrounding this little circle of depressed people. His mouth was dry and the palms of his hands were wet. Even if his ‘Captain Sense’ hadn’t reacted right now, he would’ve known that this here was probably the answer to one of the many problems he had been gnawing at in the back of his mind for days now.

He only needed to know how to use it in order to help his crew. He settled for listening.

“It’s pretty hard. But it’s not even solely _what_ they did to him. It’s more, like... hm...” That had been Ensign Bauers, a stocky, black haired man with slim glasses on the back of his long nose. He looked contemplating up towards the ceiling, then took a swig of his beverage. The others waited patiently for him to sort his thoughts out.

“I thought about it on and off during the past days. I’m not squeamish, you know? I love all these old hack ‘n slash horror movies. I can handle gore and violence pretty well. But I think what made all this so intense for me is the fact that they did all those things to Mr. Spock. I never saw the guy so much as slap someone. I didn’t even hear him raise his voice outside of having to be heard above some loud noise,” Bauers ventured eventually and slowly looked around to the pensive faces around him.

He seemed to be satisfied, however, when no one objected and swallowed another mouth full of liquid.

“You know... I think you are on to something, there. I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what disturbed me so much, but... you’re right. It’s just so unconceivable that sentient beings are capable to harm another being that is as peaceful as a Vulcan – or Mr. Spock, at the very least. It makes me question some very... ah... elementary things. But that’s probably going to be too philosophical,” said the young Ensign Cantor. She went beet red upon her last sentence and quickly ducked her head.

Uhura gently nudged her with an elbow.

“No, no. You’re totally right, Emily. It really does lead to so many ethical questions. It’s just awful what they’ve done. I had some panic attacks the past few days. I felt – and still feel – pretty unbalanced. There are just so many questions in my head that I sometimes have the feeling it’s going to explode. I’m a pretty peaceful person. I grew up in a little village on Hawaii and everyone there is so loving and full of warmth. It’s sometimes just so hard for me to understand the concept of this gratuitous violence. Starfleet prepared me for the reality of serving in space. I’m no wallflower and I need no protection, but... seeing a friend get tortured; it’s one of the most horrible things I ever had to sit through,” the Communications Officer said and the corners of her mouth twitched slightly, when she heard the approving murmur of the people around.

She sighed and leaned boneless against the backrest of the couch she was sitting on.

“You know? I feel how much it helps me to be talking to all of you about it. I already feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I somehow thought I was the only one with these... anxieties,” she said to a chorus of ‘yeah, me too’.

Kirk’s hazel eyes had been drawn towards the vast void of space, while listening to his crew pour their hearts out to one another.

At Uhura’s last sentence he flinched slightly. That was probably it. The key. Right there. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward into the dim light surrounding the little group.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you... but is there another seat for one fellow crewmember? I’d like to talk to you a bit... and probably make you an offer.”

 

They had all been startled to see their Captain all of a sudden standing there. There had been some reticence bordering on mistrust in their gazes, when he had taken a seat next to Sulu, but when he started talking it soon seemed to melt away.

“I think that it’s a great idea that you all got together and started to talk about what happened,” he had said, while looking down to his hands that were loosely clasped between his knees, “and I’d like to encourage it. It’s only helpful. How about we meet again in a couple of days. Same time, same place. And we’ll talk.”

He had raised his head, looking at one after the other intently.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t pay nearly as much attention to your needs than I should have done. I am no expert, but I _have_ some experience with... traumata. I want to talk to you about what happened on Tarsus IV – If you’d like me to, that is. Maybe it’ll help you all to put into perspective what you have been witnessing a few days ago. Other than that I’d just like to listen to all your... philosophical... musings. Above everything else we are still human beings. We shouldn’t forget that fact. To be efficient in what we do we have to be – at heart – compassionate.”

He paused slightly and took a deep breath. None of the other seven people was saying anything. Kirk turned his head back towards the contemplation of his hands and continued, “If you don’t feel comfortable enough to be talking about all of this with your commanding Officer then I’ll just find someone, who – “

“Captain,” interrupted Sulu respectfully, looking at the man at his side. Kirk turned slightly towards him, a question in his eyes.

Sulu threw a quick look around, then slowly said, “I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’d be honoured to listen to your story, sir. And I think that it would indeed be helpful – at least for me.”

Kirk’s answering smile was brittle and sad, but honest.

 

When he finally staggered into bed at about 0100 after having written all the necessary reports, Kirk fell into a deep sleep, riddled with so many faces and colours that his head started to hurt. Sometime during the dreams, however, the pain receded. Kirk wouldn’t be able to tell the next morning, why that had been the case. He couldn’t even remember one of the many faces.

All he remembered were soft, brown eyes, gazing patiently at him; they would be following him the whole day.

 

At about the same time Kirk stood in his bathroom pondering the chocolate brown eyes and getting ready for Alpha shift, Spock stood in the tiny bathroom adjacent to his room in sickbay and stared into the mirror above the sink. The Vulcan eyes were roaming along his narrow face with all it’s planes and sharp, masculine angles, until he was looking himself right in the eyes. It was hard to see himself in the image. It was a strange, detached feeling that made him dizzy.

How could one look inside a mirror and just flat out refuse the identity of the one who was staring back? Quite illogical.

He slowly raised his right, bandaged hand – Jim would be changing them again tomorrow – and rubbed the shaking tips over his rough chin. Maybe a shave would help.

Nurse Chapel had offered him to do the deed, but he had refused vehemently. He was no invalid. Not yet.

So Spock was standing there and gearing himself up towards the first, real task he would try with these new hands McCoy and M’Benga had screwed onto his arms.

His brows furrowed with the effort it took to curl the twitching fingers around the razor. The burning pain shooting through his arm was nearly enough to force him to open his hand and let the device fall into the sink. However, the First Officer of the Enterprise was nothing, if not a stubborn bastard.

The low electrical hum of the razor filled the cramped space as well as Spock’s sensitive ears until it seemed to thrum through his whole being. His still tender jaw throbbed painfully, while he ground his teeth together in order to somehow stem the agony from his shivering right hand. He had a better grip on his mental faculties now than he had had a few days prior, but the art of compartmentalizing his feelings – and therefore pain – still eluded him to some point. It was quite... annoying.

After ensuring his left cheek was satisfactorily smooth, he was slowly gliding the sharp blades of the razor along the strong curve of his left jaw line all the while staring stoically at the man in the mirror.

Spock watched the slanted, black eyebrows. They were drawn together in a mixture of pain and concentration. They were Vulcan eyebrows.

He looked towards his ears. Elegantly curved and tapered to sensitive tips, able to hear the footsteps of some Nurse or other outside his little, private domain. They were Vulcan ears.

He observed the silky, black hair, severely cut and unconditionally straight. It was Vulcan hair.

And yet...

Spock closed his eyes for but a second and for just a moment the sneering faces of the Andorians – grinning like feral beasts, covered in his emerald green blood – flashed before his eyelids.

Spock’s eyes flew open, while his hand gave the most violent spasm as of yet, causing him to cut his right cheek.

He let the razor fall. It clanked down into the sink with a dissonant clatter and Spock had to clutch the rim of the stainless steel, while his knees buckled and he sank down on the floor.

His head hung low between his biceps, while he was panting and shaking in shame.

 

Spock didn’t leave his room during the course of that day. He ate everything Nurse Chapel brought him in order not to get her so riled up again that she called for the Captain – a humiliating experience in and off itself – and worked his way through numerous reports. He wanted to keep up with the news on the Enterprise and there were plenty of experiments in his labs that would have needed his supervision during the past few days, so he’d better make sure that they were still running satisfactorily.

No, he didn’t search desperately for everything he could get his hands on only to be able to forget... No, he wasn’t.

 

Kirk hadn’t thought much of Mr. Spock that day – because, really, brown eyes were not uncommon. Especially soulful, chocolate brown ones that could look as soft as a doe’s. There had been enough reports to review and duties to perform that he as a Captain had missed the previous days and they had caught up to him with a vengeance.

The crew had started to throw him sympathetic glances around three o’clock, when he had started to look a bit harassed.

So it was no wonder for anyone, when the Captain sauntered at 2100 with a limp stride into Recreational Room 5 and plopped down besides Uhura who was playing cards with Ensign Rand.

He started to massage his temples and willed his shoulder muscles to release their death grip upon his lower neck, while he listened to Uhura hum a sultry song under her breath.

A few minutes ticket by and he got positively lulled by the dark voice of the woman. When he noticed his chin slightly sagging forward due to him drifting off to sleep, he shook himself awake and threw the two women who were giggling, a reproachful look.

“Say, Lieutenant. What song is that you’re humming?” he drawled and placed his chin upon the palm of his right hand, placing his right elbow on the surface of the table and watching Uhura intently.

Was there a triumphant glint in her dark eyes for but a second? Huh...

“Oh, nothing, sir. Just a silly, little Orion song...” she lilted and Rand ducked her head with a snort.

Kirk’s hazel eyes lit up.

“Orion you say? What are the lyrics? Do tell, good Lieutenant,” he positively purred out of excitement. Orion songs were always... worth listening.

Uhura clicked her tongue.

“Oh, they’re nothing worthwhile, Captain. Really,” she said evasively and the corners of her mouth twitched slightly. Kirk, however, had smelled blood and wouldn’t let it go.

“Come on, Lieutenant. You can’t make a poor bloke curious and then just leave him hanging. Tell me,” he urged, hazel eyes bright and mischievous.

Uhura made a fake put upon sigh and pretended to be immersed in her card game, while singing the sultry song again, this time with the lyrics; she did it very silently, so only Kirk and Rand could hear it.

“’I want you to be... I want you to be... I want you to be everything I need. I want you to be my friend, my brother; I want you to be my child, my tutor. I want you to be... I want you to be... I want you to be everything I need. I want you to be my nightmare, I want you to be my dream, I want you to be everything. I want you to be my friend, brother, child, tutor, nightmare, dream; in short: I want you to be my lover.’”

There wasn’t any more talk after that and Kirk soon after excused himself with a very hoarse voice.

Uhura’s eyes glinted, while she watched Kirk stagger away. The look in his eyes had been one of such dumbfounded, innocent incomprehension that she nearly had pity with the poor man. Nearly.

 

When Spock opened his eyes he knew that he was dreaming for he was standing in the middle of a street in San Francisco he hadn’t seen in years. He clasped his hands – not injured in the least – behind his back and slowly turned around on the spot, observing his surroundings with the curiosity of a Scientist.

It was night, only the streetlamps were providing dim, fluttering lights; the heaven above was dark and full of heavy clouds. It wasn’t cold, however, so he assumed that it was a summer night. The street he was standing on was totally abandoned despite all the hover cars parked at the sidewalks.

He could hear steps behind him and slowly turned around. He tilted his head to one side, gazing intently into the darkness that enveloped the street a few yards further down. A dark figure emerged, but try as he might he couldn’t identify the person despite his superior Vulcan eyesight.

That annoyed him slightly for it meant that he was still struggling with the effects of the Andorian drug; normally his dreams were totally logical.

His eyes widened slightly, when he finally caught sight of the person approaching. It was Captain Kirk, wearing a casual outfit of jeans and a leather jacket over a deep red shirt. He looked... handsome. The slightly shorter man came to a halt in front of him, throwing him one of his trademark Kirk-smiles that were normally reserved for beautiful women he wanted to woo.

Spock felt his throat constrict slightly.

“Captain...”

“Walk with me...? Spock?” Kirk asked softly, touching Spock’s bicep and gesturing with his other arm down the street. Spock didn’t hesitate to answer in the affirmative. He couldn’t even refuse his Captain in his dreams. The notion was slightly disconcerting.

They began to walk side by side, their steps echoing off the walls surrounding them. Spock had his gaze stubbornly lowered to the pavement, while Kirk sauntered next to him in his usual, boisterous swagger, his broad, muscular shoulders squared and his head held high.

“Why are we here, Captain?”

“Because it’s most comforting to walk through San Francisco at night.”

Spock slightly shook his head.

“I don’t see anything comforting in this particular scenario, Captain. It is dark, everything seems to be void of life and –“

“Are you afraid of me, Mr. Spock?” Kirk interrupted him. He came to a halt and Spock had to do the same, if he didn’t want to be rude. The Vulcan gazed with curiosity at the golden skinned man.

“No, sir, I am indeed not afraid.”

One corner of Kirk’s mouth tilted up into the crooked half smile Spock knew too well. Kirk took one step forward to Spock. He was now standing in the personal space of the Vulcan, who swallowed heavily but didn’t retreat backwards.

“Do you trust me, Mr. Spock?” Kirk whispered; he was being positively seductive. Spock’s heart was fluttering in his side and he slowly balled his hands into fists behind his back.

“I... do, Captain,” he said dutifully. He felt the tips of his ears tingle and sweat prickle on the nape of his neck. This was highly unusual.

While he had indeed often observed this behaviour in his Captain, it had always been directed towards a female. Never to a male. And certainly not to him.

‘Is this... is this, what my subconscious wants?’ he thought nearly panicky as he observed the hands of the other man, that he had watched so intently the past few days, raise themselves towards his head.

They hovered for a few seconds so close to his cheeks that Spock was certain he could feel the warmth radiating from the rough palms. He wanted to say or do something – anything – but this dream seemed to derail at an alarming speed.

Spock knew despite the daze that was overtaking him with a certainty of 89.47 percent that he would not be able to refuse Kirk when the Captain seized him and did... things... to him. A rush of hot and cold prickled through his body and he felt sick to his stomach.

‘This is what I want? After what has happened? My only friend?’ Dark, big eyes were roaming helplessly in search for an answer over the attractive face of his companion.

Suddenly, however, Kirk let his hands drop to his sides and stepped backwards, away from his Vulcan friend and the nearly intimate situation.

Something seemed to have shifted subtly in the air around them. While their surroundings had felt – despite Spock’s earlier objection – rather benevolent, it now suddenly appeared... cold and threatening.

Spock’s respiration increased and he fisted his hands into the fabric of his trousers.

He blinked and Kirk was gone.

A bleak desperation overcame him. He took one useless, illogical step forward, before getting a grip back on himself. He willed his body to cooperate and took a look around at his surroundings. In the end it was not hard to spot the Captain. Kirk was standing just outside the light of one of the streetlamps; his face plunged into darkness.

“Captain... we should go,” Spock said as calmly as possible. He tried not to show his Captain yet again another highly unVulcan emotional outburst, but the frantic fluttering of his heart and the rush of blood being pumped faster and faster through his body made it very difficult indeed.

Kirk didn’t answer. He just stood there; seemingly waiting for something. The Vulcan felt a cold shudder run down his spine. The wind picked up and Spock’s mouth filled with saliva as his sensitive nose got a whiff of... something. He sniffed cautiously the previously odourless air. He couldn’t say what it was that he smelled, but it made him break out into cold sweat.

Everything was quite disorienting and intimidating for the Vulcan. His brain wasn’t fast enough to compute all the strange occurrences; this fact alone made him feel small and regrettably underequipped.

“Captain...!” he hissed insistently, while he struggled against his body’s natural ‘fight or flight’ response.

Kirk turned around and walked into one of the narrow backstreets leading from the broad street they had been standing on.

Spock was panting now; shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Kirk didn’t reappear.

He had to go after him. He forced his feet to comply and see where his commanding Officer and friend had gone off to.

The smell grew thicker just like the spit in his mouth; he had to swallow convulsively, before it made him gag.

He could feel his science tunic being plastered to his sweaty back; a curious sensation in and off itself. Spock couldn’t remember the last time he had perspired that much. He analyzed the responses of his body.

‘Fear... but why?’ he thought and faltered at the entrance to the alleyway. Dread washed over him in relentless waves. His body wanted to moan, but he clamped down on the urge. Instead a whimper forced its way out of his throat. Where had that come from?

Spock could see a door in the almost total darkness of the backstreet; it was slightly ajar. No sign of the Captain anywhere. The alley had no other entrance or exit, so Kirk must’ve gone though that door.

Spock’s dark, large eyes were focussed on the slim gap; he was so intent on the inconceivable threat emanating from the innocent door, he didn’t even realize the way his right hand was searching for a phaser he did not have with him.

San Francisco really didn’t seem benign or peaceful anymore. It seemed like a great, dark beast, waiting for him to make the wrong move in order to pounce and tear him apart.

‘Jim is in there. I have to... I have to get him out of there,’ he thought and staggered slowly towards the door. Every step was a struggle with his own disobedient body.

Only Spock’s relentless chant of ‘Jim’s in there. I need to save him.’ brought him to the door through which the abominable stench wafted in sickening clouds.

“Oh, Oekon...(Oh, God...),” he moaned. A dry sob ripped out of his throat as he thrust his hand forcefully forward and pushed the door open.

The stench made him reel back and gag.

At that moment two things happened simultaneously: his brain finally provided him with the information what this unholy odour was, while hard, unyielding hands were seizing him and dragging his struggling body inside the building.

That stench... steel, unwashed bodies, sweat, blood. The smell of the Andorian ship. And those hands he knew only too well.

“Rai... Raiiii! (No... Nooo!),” he moaned, trying to dislodge the grasping fingers that simply would not let him go. He was in total darkness – no walls, no ceiling, no floor. His Vulcan senses were reeling while they struggled with the task to provide him with any semblance of sanity. Up, down, left, right, were suddenly incomprehensible concepts. The stench was overbearing and combined with his dizziness and panic made him vomit.

Disembodied, Andorian voices were laughing and taunting him.

“Look at him. Never saw a Vulcan do that.”

“That’s because he isn’t a Vulcan. He’s human.”

“Nah, he’s not human. Look at him. He’s just some man.”

“He’s no man. No man would be so helpless. No man would need others to look after him. They even called his Captain to kiss his pain away, you know? No, he’s no man. He is a mere... thing. He’s ours to do as we please. He can’t defend himself.”

“No Vulcan, no human, no man... ha! Freak!”

He was shivering while they were ripping off his clothes. His mind reeling with everything they said.

‘Is that what I am? A thing? A... pet perhaps? To be fed and cared for by others superior than I?’ he thought delirious.

As he felt hands on his trembling thighs, fingers digging into the tender flesh, fingernails slicing the vulnerable skin, the moment seemed to freeze for but a second. However, as the sudden void shattered, it did so with a vengeance.

An pure animal scream ripped out of Spock’s sore throat, while he began to kick forcefully, desperate to get away from his tormentors that seemed to get stronger and stronger by the minute.

“No! NOO!” the Vulcan raged, digging his fingers into the nothingness around him. The muscles in his arms were trembling with the force he used in order to get away from those hands.

The Andorians around him were laughing the whole time and it seemed to be way too easy for them to open him up and expose the vulnerable entrance to his body.

Everything in Spock seemed to freeze up and nausea made his gut churn painfully. He could not remember ever feeling this way. His body had been a mere tool, housing his superior, Vulcan mind. He had never deliberately caused it any harm, but he had never been in love with it like – for example – his commanding Officer.

So the fierce protectiveness roiling through his body and causing his insides to burn in embarrassment and fear hit him unprepared and squarely in the chest. When he felt hotness behind him and the blunt press of something huge and dry on the tender pucker of his anus, another scream forced its way out of his chest.

Spock’s gut clenched in dry heaves, while his body instinctively tried to turn away, crawl away – just get _away_ from the unwelcome intrusion.

Sexuality had been up to this point a topic with only restricted interest for the intelligent man. He had listened many a times to Kirk or McCoy while they had bantered or bragged, but never had it held any real interest for him.

Sex, for the Vulcan, was simply a means to an end – and this end was reproduction. He had accepted that it seemed to hold a high regard with the humans, but had never found it worthy for much consideration.

Now however the mere thought of being engaged again... The thought of being forced against his will... feeling the blunt cockhead press against him, made his testicles shrivel up inside his body. Nausea lapped against the boundaries of his consciousness.

“Rai... no... no...” he moaned, while another pair of invisible hands, filled with hate and malicious joy, held his slim hips, forcing his wriggling, struggling body down.

Between the horrified realization that he would not be able to escape and the slow, agonizing pressure growing on the tightly clenched orifice, time seemed to stand still.

Every agonizing, ember hot millimetre seemed to burn itself into Spock’s mind all over again.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks without him noticing – something he hadn’t allowed himself on the real Andorian ship – and it almost, _almost_ was a relief, when time made an highly illogical, sudden leap forward and the burning column of unyielding flesh was buried inside his reluctant body.

Shame and pain smothered him like a wet, heavy blanket, while his captors were taunting, laughing.

“Look at him... taking it like a good little bitch. No man. No man at all. He’s taking and taking and taking. And in the end his Captain has to collect all the pieces and put them back together.”

He screamed and sobbed and pleaded, while the hot steal of their cocks was driving him insane with pain. They were plunging and laughing, holding him with hard, brutal hands and prodding him with fists and boots he could not see.

Shame and humiliation.

Spock was an unVulcan, unhuman, unmanly mess, imprisoned somewhere in the darkness of his mind with the heartless memories of evil and hatred.

“J-Jim...”

Howling laughter was his answer.

 

Spock was out of his bed and at the door even before his overheated brain gave him the information that he no longer was imprisoned in that nightmare.

His breath came in harsh, dry sobs that he heaved with massive effort through his being, while he stumbled blindly out of his little room. He had to get away from there. Get away as far as possible from those dreadful memories and thoughts.

Spock’s temples were pounding with heated insistence in a way similar to the phantom pain he still felt in his rectum. The heat in his head seemed to lead him – no drag him – along the corridor. He stumbled along, holding himself up with one twitching hand against a wall.

He wanted to stop, catch his breath, get rid of the horrible images before he resumed his walk and probably was found by someone in this undignified state, but the... force dragging him along by his mind was unrelenting.

Hot, feverish tendrils were ensnaring his brittle mental shields.

‘Something is not right... Something is not right!’ Spock thought, trying to fight the pull, but ultimately powerless to stem the tide. Finally he was at a door further down the corridor. It swished open and Spock staggered inside. What he saw made his blood boil with red, hot anger.

An Andorian lying in the bed, grinning at him and twitching with his antennae in a way that was distinctly amused.

“There you are, my little fucktoy... Came to get more? You’re a tight fuck, aren’t you?” the man drawled by way of greeting.

Spock was too distraught to clearly think about the implications that the alien had obviously been waiting for him; as if he had known that Spock would have a nightmare that would leave him disoriented and weak with horror.

Surak’s teachings flew in that moment right out of the window as the warrior in Spock broke through with a vengeance and he catapulted himself across the room. He didn’t even register the security guard in the corner.

Spock leapt with an impressive, agile lunge straight upon the alien and tried to strangle him with his twitching, burning hands.

 

The following minutes were a jumbled mess. The guard had to slightly stun Spock with a phaser in order to pry the raging Vulcan off his victim and drag him bodily out of the room. Outside were already some Nurses swarming and blocking the way for the two struggling individuals.

Nobody paid attention to the door swishing shut behind the guard and Mr. Spock; therefore no one knew that the Andorian was currently alone in his room and immediately seized the opportunity.

He grinned like a maniac despite the painful throbbing in his neck where the Vulcan had squeezed with his hands. He slid gingerly – mindful of his still tender ribs – from the bed. He seized one of his shoes that were standing beneath the sickbed and pried the heel slightly off.

He was intently listening for the racket outside his room, while his blue fingers fumbled in the narrow slit he had created.

He could hear someone demanding to ‘get the Captain!’ and swore silently under his breath. A wave of relief crashed through his being when his index finger finally bumped against the tiny data chip. Seconds later he was at the communication’s unit and shoved the chip into a tiny slot.

A maniacal grin spread across his features as his deed was done and he swiftly got back to his bed.

“I have to thank you again, Vulcan. You fool,” he murmured hoarsely, chuckling to himself and waiting for someone to notice what a good little prisoner he had been despite no one being in his room and looking out for him...

 

“And where is Mr. Spock now?” Kirk asked, while he massaged the back of his nose slightly. He hadn’t been sleeping this time, although it was nearly 2400. Uhura’s little, sultry Orion song wouldn’t leave his mind and therefore he hadn’t been very miffed when he got the call from sickbay.

“We don’t know, sir. He was pretty agitated and we thought it best to let him go for the time being, before he would turn against one of us...”

Kirk’s hazel eyes went hard and unyielding, when he heard this. He balled his right hand into a fist and punched it against the bulkhead.

“Mr. Spock would _never_ turn against any of us, Ensign. You should better try and remember that,” he growled.

There was an awkward silence for one or two seconds, before the Ensign on the other end of the line murmured, “Yes, sir.”

“Go back to your post. I will handle Mr. Spock.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kirk straightened his spine and tucked slightly at his gold tunic. His eyes had a far away look to them. What a mess. Why did the Vulcan wander into that particular room in sickbay in the middle of the night? Had nobody informed him that one of the Andorians was in sickbay?

‘Be my child, be my tutor...’ he thought and said aloud, “Computer. Current location of First Officer Spock?”

“Observation Deck 7,” came the cool voiced reply. Kirk blew a soft breath out and murmured while heading for the entrance of his quarters, “Be my nightmare, be my dream.”

 

Observation Deck 7 was empty but for one lonely individual standing at the huge windows, looking out into the black void and the millions of beautiful stars and planets.

Kirk was not surprised that Spock was alone and that he hadn’t bothered with any lights. The two suns of the Mektorian solar system in the distance were providing enough brightness.

The Captain felt the tensing of the slender man as he came to a halt next to him. He too was facing the window.

A few moments passed with neither of the men saying anything. Kirk’s pale lips twitched slightly when he felt Spock gradually relax again.

“What has happened?” he asked finally after he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

His voice was low; he was nearly whispering as if afraid to break the spell of the moment. Something was in the air between them, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was. Spock was radiating a rather peculiar aura.

“I am not quite sure as of yet,” came the answer. Spock spoke slow. He had to carefully enunciate every word in order for it to be understandable. He chanced a look towards the Vulcan and saw the pain in his dark, soft eyes. He turned towards him.

“Hey, Spock,” he said softly. Spock just shook his head slightly and turned it away from his friend.

“Don’t, Jim... I...” he began, but Kirk would have none of it. He reached for the other man, curling his stocky fingers around the upper arm just above Spock’s elbow.

The reaction of the man was explosive. He jerked back with a startled hiss. His eyes big and vulnerable as he stared at Kirk.

“Releaseme,” he said. He was so agitated, that the words slurred together. Kirk’s light brown eyebrows drew together. He shook his head, kept his grip upon Spock’s person and made a step towards him.

“Spock...”

“Leggofme! (Let go of me!)” the other man said frantic now. Kirk could feel the superior muscles of the Vulcan bunch under his grip. He felt the virile strength being held at a tight leash from this gentle being.

Spock’s face suffused with green and his soft, brown eyes shone bright with humiliation over his less than perfect speech.

However, he didn’t try to extract himself forcefully. He didn’t hurt Kirk despite the fact that he certainly had the faculties to do so. It let Kirk feel at ease to know that this man was – despite the harsh treatment he had been subjected to – still a peaceful creature at heart.

Spock would not harm anyone on the Enterprise.

Kirk didn’t let go of the Vulcan. They were standing before each other, chests heaving rapidly and almost touching. Spock’s head was slightly tilted downwards in order to look intently into the eyes of his Captain.

Kirk saw the slight trembling of the delicately curved lips and even a little nick on Spock’s right cheek, where he had probably cut himself while shaving.

Emotions were churning in the chocolate brown depths; sadness, fear, reluctant hope. It made his own stomach draw together into a tight, hot knot.

Gradually Spock’s breathing slowed down. The trembling muscles beneath Kirk’s hand were slowly relaxing.

He did not exactly know what he was expecting next, but Spock’s next words were not it.

“What am I, Captain?”

Kirk’s hazel eyes narrowed slightly and slid away from the helpless, searching look of the inquisitive, Vulcan eyes.

“You are First Officer and Science Officer Spock,” he answered after a while.

“But who is Spock? What is Spock? Is he Vulcan, is he human, is he man? Who is he?”

Kirk’s heart nearly broke when he heard the other man brokenly whisper these heartfelt questions. He didn’t know where they were coming from, but spoken in this slurred, slightly indistinct way made them sound like they were asked by a little boy.

Kirk forced himself to meet Spock’s eyes. He didn’t realize that he had loosened his grip on Spock’s arm, until his hand hovered near the Vulcan’s face. The tip of his index finger very slightly touched the tiny nick in the Vulcan’s cheek.

“Spock is my friend, brother, child and tutor,” he murmured with a hoarse voice and pursed his lips when he realized that he really did mean it in every sense of these words. Curious.

Something in Spock’s gaze seemed to shift. The two men looked at each other intently, searching for something they didn’t know.

When Spock tilted his head forward, laying his forehead with a defeated sigh against Kirk’s broad shoulder, the man didn’t flinch away. He stood there and let his cheek lightly rest against the silky, black hair and closed his eyes.

 

That night, Spock didn’t return to sickbay. He went back into his own rooms.


	13. Chapter 13

“You sure, Bones?” Kirk asked, shifting uneasily in his Captain’s chair. Alpha shift had just started and he was well rested – after his strange talk with Spock he had escorted the Vulcan back to his quarters and then went straight to his own bed where he fell into a long, restful slumber.

Somehow the knowledge that the First Officer was once again residing in his own cabin and probably discarding his sickbay clothing with a quiet, dignified glee that only Spock could muster without batting an eyelash, made sleeping way easier.

Regardless, Kirk was tense and unhappy again, after Bones had contacted the Enterprise one more time just like they had arranged. The CMO sounded tired and irritated when he said that he still needed at least one day with the Mektorians.

“Jim, do I sound like someone who is _not_ sure?” he spat irritable and Kirk was somehow glad for the vast distance separating him from his old friend at the moment. Bones sounded like he was ‘so close’ to throwing a raging fit.

“They keep carrying more and more sick to us. I don’t know out of which dark and dingy recesses they are dragging these people, but we are totally exhausted. In fact: I will go to bed immediately after we end this fucking unhelpful call. So don’t expect any calls in the next ... oh... say... 8 hours? I’m a Doctor, not a robot, damn it!”

Everyone was silent, staring slightly surprised towards the Captain’s chair where Kirk was sitting and rubbing the back of his nose. When he caught himself waiting for a smooth baritone voice from the Science Station to chastise McCoy for his human emotionalism he realized that he probably wasn’t as well rested as he had thought, after all.

“It’s okay, Bones. You go and get some sleep. Order some of your toadies to report in, yeah? I’m probably being a mother hen, but I can’t help it,” he said with a soothing voice, designed solely to calm down a raging McCoy. Bones was a great guy and all – but hell he could hiss better than a cat and hold a grudge longer than any woman he ever knew.

Bones didn’t even deign him for an answer and just cut the connection. Kirk was watching the panel in the armrest of his chair with a furrowed brow, then sighed deeply.

“Lieutenant Uhura.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Any word from Starfleet?”

“Unfortunately no, sir. I’m hauling in every favour I can in order to get our messages delivered faster through the various Starbases and patrolling ships, but they’ll probably take another day or so before they arrive and in case Starfleet does answer them immediately, it’ll be probably...” Uhura narrowed her dark, beautifully painted eyes in contemplation and thrummed with her fingers onto the communication’s console.

“You can expect message from Starfleet in about a week, sir. I’m afraid I can’t make it happen sooner.”

Kirk sighed and shook his head.

“You’re doing what you can, Lieutenant. Keep at it. Any information regarding the colour patterns?”

“None, sir.” It sounded a little growled and when Kirk swung his chair around in order to look at the dark skinned woman, her face was scrunched up in annoyance. He nodded slowly and threw the Science Station his short, customary look. It plain hurt not to see the tall, bowed figure of Spock standing there and investigating one-thing-or-another.

Kirk’s eyes narrowed and he energetically got out of his chair.

“Mr. Sulu, you got the conn,” he said, while striding towards the lift. “I wont be long.”

 

It didn’t take long for the door to Mr. Spock’s quarters to glide open without any noise. Kirk’s heart leapt straight into his throat when he saw Spock standing there in his customary black regulation trousers and science blue uniform. The Vulcan was standing tall and proud, looking at Kirk with the unreadable gaze of a Sphinx.

‘God it is good to see him again,’ he thought, while his pale, pink lips tried to smile at the other man. If Spock’s slightly hitched eyebrow was anything to go by, his attempt looked about as wobbly as it felt.

“Mr. Spock. May I enter? Or am I intruding?” he asked politely. The cool, aloof facade of the Vulcan got tiny cracks when the man hesitated a little too long for comfort before he tilted his head in acknowledgement and stepped aside.

It was too warm to be entirely comfortable for the human in all his clothes, but he didn’t say anything. Kirk slowly looked around the dark, exotically furnished room. As was his habit when visiting his First Officer in his quarters, he sauntered over towards the sleeping niche and studied the statue of the fire spirit.

The scent of incense hung thick in the air. Had Spock been just meditating? Kirk breathed in deeply and closed his eyes briefly.

“Sir. May I ask why you came to my quarters in the middle of Alpha shift?” Spock asked after a few seconds of silence with that very slow, very careful enunciation of his. Kirk felt a pang at that. Normally it was himself that got bored or nervous in the silences. For Spock to break it out of impatience was... strange. It did not really fit.

The Captain turned around and contemplated the man. Spock was still standing where he had moved to the side of the door. His hands were behind his back and he was standing in his customary stance, so Kirk couldn’t exactly put his finger on as to why Spock was looking so... off today.

“Of course you may ask, Mr. Spock,” he said jovially and sauntered over towards the other man, but immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw the tensing of the muscles in shoulders and pectorals as well as the almost tactile effort displayed in Spock’s eyes that told from the force he was exuding upon his body not to step back from the other man.

Kirk frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He wanted to ask Spock what was wrong; wanted to confront him and hear why – oh, why – his First Officer was every time anew being cautious and almost fearful of him despite them having repeatedly broken down the barriers in the past week.

‘It’s like every time I go away all that I have done gets erased,’ Kirk thought frustrated and said a little harsher than strictly necessary, “I want that you resume your duty, Mr. Spock. You are to come with me to the bridge.”

Kirk very nearly wanted to take his words back in light of the look entering Spock’s face – did he really think just a few moments prior that it was cool and austere?

Spock could be as inscrutable as a Buddha, but right now his eyes grew big and painfully vulnerable.

“I... ex...cuse me, sir?” Spock’s speech got once again jumbled with his increasing nervousness and the tips of his ears slowly suffused with a forest green colour.

“You heard me right. I had to somehow get through this week without both my Science Officer and my First Officer. And don’t make me get started on the moral support of my friend I was lacking,” Kirk said; his tender words belying his Captain’s voice that hung hard in the air between them.

Spock shook his head, visibly trying to rein in all his unVulcan reactions. He cleared his throat.

“I can not, sir.”

Kirk raised his eyebrows and took two steps closer. The look in the chocolate brown depths was one of near panic. Spock brought his hands forward, holding them between their bodies almost defiantly.

“I am not fit for duty. As you can see, sir,” he ground out, shame reflecting in his face.

Kirk’s voice was tender, as he said, “Don’t lie, Mr. Spock.”

Spock reeled backwards as if he had been slapped. For a few precious seconds Kirk hoped Spock would deny the lying; would tell him with superior haughtiness that he as a Vulcan was unable to utter something as foul and petty as a lie. He could see it in Spock’s face that the man very nearly thought the same, geared his body towards responding the way he had a thousand times before, but... nothing came.

Spock’s slightly parted lips closed again and he lowered his gaze towards a point on Kirk’s broad chest. The awkward silence stretched between them and Kirk had to break it.

“Don’t lie to me. But more importantly: Don’t lie to yourself, Spock. You know that your hands have nothing to do with it, do you? For the work on the Science Station they are enough,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

Spock’s dark eyes sought the hazel ones of his Captain; a helpless enquiry in them. Kirk once again felt dreadfully unequipped for this particular job. He didn’t know what to say or do to make the Vulcan understand. He didn’t even know, if Spock _could_ understand it. Either at this moment or in general. Not after what had happened to him.

It eluded the Captain.

Kirk slowly reached out for the hands still uselessly shivering between them and closed his fingers around them, all the while holding Spock’s gaze; daring him to flinch away.

“You are going to heal, Spock,” Kirk said silently, while leading the man towards the narrow, uncomfortable couch that resided along one wall. Spock followed as docile as a Le-Matya after it had been fed.

The Vulcan felt dizzy. Kirk’s intense tone suggested that the Captain was not only referring to his steadfast believe that Spock’s hands and jaw would be as ‘good as new’ as the humans called it. However, he couldn’t be quite sure. Without the emotional vibes he usually felt from the people surrounding him, he hadn’t enough trust in his abilities to read the human emotional spectrum. Kirk was right beside him – the most fiercely emotional being Spock had ever encountered – clutching his hands and... nothing. He felt totally isolated. A man dying of thirst in the middle of a vast ocean.

Spock spoke silently as he was guided into a sitting position, “What if I do not, Captain? I will have to leave the Enter – “

“You are going to heal, Spock. I will personally see to that. I will make it my life’s mission and I won’t let you just... up and go. You understand?” Kirk dropped without a thought for his dignity as a Starship Captain upon his knees in front of the Vulcan and gazed intently in the other man’s eyes. Spock solemnly stared back, his hands twitching slightly in Kirk’s hard grasp.

Spock didn’t complain about the grip that made his nerves burn; to the contrary, he enjoyed it. It showed him that he was still alive and kicking.

Nonetheless...

“Captain, I know that I have asked a lot of you the past days, but – “

“Whatever you want, Spock. Just say it,” Kirk interrupted swiftly, squaring his broad shoulders and raising his light brown eyebrows in enquiry.

The two men were gazing silently into each others eyes; trying to fathom the thoughts rushing through the head of their counterpart. When Spock opened his mouth Kirk caught himself watching those deep pink lips. It occurred to the man that for such an supposedly emotion-less being, the Vulcan had oddly sensual lips.

Spock, however, put an end to Kirk’s musings with his next words, “Could you remove the bandages. If I am to work in Alpha shift, I want to do it without the hindrance of the stiff fabric.”

The gentle eyes looked down between them upon the four hands still clasping each other. Kirk, too, lowered his gaze; he was slightly dazed by his strange thoughts just now. A few seconds the men stared until they realized that they were – for all intents and purposes – holding hands right now.

Kirk shot up from his kneeling position as if something had bitten him in the ass, while Spock simultaneously sat back on the narrow couch. They didn’t look at one another, while Kirk said a little too loud and a little too light-hearted, “Of course, Spock. Do you have a pair of – “

“In the drawer of my work desk,” Spock said. His deep, baritone voice sounded husky and made things to the little hair on Kirk’s neck that the Captain preferred not to think about.

A few moments later Kirk started working on removing the bandages from around Spock’s hands. He sat next to the Vulcan; his brow was creased in concentration, so he wouldn’t cut the tender flesh that slowly came into view.

Kirk’s heart started beating, when he realized how intimate this situation was. However, he couldn’t bring himself not to care for the slender hands. One just had to admit that they truly were a thing of beauty – regardless of the few deep green lines that still marked the surgery.

“There you are, Spock,” Kirk finally said with a low voice that was shaking slightly. He was looking down stubbornly upon the mess of cut bandages in his lap. He didn’t want to see Spock’s gaze. He didn’t want to know what those gentle, oh-so-expressive human eyes were telling him right now.

Spock was staring in equal measures at the shivering, twitching hands in his lap and upon Kirk’s lowered head.

So many feelings were writhing inside him; it was quite disconcerting. He felt disgust with these appendages he still didn’t feel very comfortable with – and filed it away.

He felt wonder over the fact that Kirk was – indeed – granting him his request personally and didn’t shove it off to one of the nurses – and filed it away.

He felt trepidation and a crushing feeling of fear due to the close proximity to the other being; mixed with profound sadness because of his isolation from Kirk’s feelings – and filed it away. Though, he knew, he would have to think about _that one_ again, because surely there was a mistake. His synapses had to be cross firing in wrong directions. He could not fear the proximity and at the same time crave for it. Most illogical. Most... self-destructive.

And last but not least he felt every spot where Kirk’s callused fingertips had touched him with a tiny prickling – and filed it all away.

So when Kirk finally did look up he was met with a most impassive Vulcan who regarded him with detached, scientific curiosity.

He felt relieved.

 

When the lift opened, Kirk sauntered towards his chair with a slightly maniacal grin.

“I’m back, Mr. Sulu. Anything new?” he enthused and plopped down in his chair while rubbing his hands together.

“Nothing, sir. We are still in orbit around Mektor and – “ Sulu had turned around in his chair and abruptly fell silent upon seeing the tall figure of the Science Officer stealthily make his way towards his station.

Curious due to Sulu’s silence other members on Alpha shift turned around. Kirk’s broad grin slightly slid off to one side, when for long moments nothing but the soft beeping of the various machines could be heard on the bridge.

He surreptitiously looked around into the faces surrounding him. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly was going through them. He had thought they would be as elated as he to have Spock back at his station – but Kirk now realized that there was much more to it.

His eyes slowly closed in something akin to agony, as he thought, “Damn it... of course I am happy to see him here again finally... I have seen him every one of the past days. _Their_ last memories of him consist of the Andorian bridge.”

The silence was as strained as the faces all around. When he turned with trepidation towards Spock he saw the man standing in a strange juxtaposition. His back was ramrod straight and his vulnerable hands hidden behind himself; his head, however, was lowered in shame.

‘Why shame? For what?’ Kirk thought helplessly, curling his hands to tight fists.

M’Benga had said that Spock was very likely thinking of Kirk as his only friend upon the Enterprise.

Although the notion made him a little irritated, because he liked to think of the Enterprise as a huge complex in which every cog and link of a chain were functioning perfectly together, he also had felt a curious sense of... possession towards the Vulcan.

Kirk had to admit that the thought of being the only one this extraordinary being was letting inside himself had not been as humbling as he would like it to be now. Rather his first thoughts upon the matter had been ‘Yes, of course it’s me. It’s every time me’. Thought in his usual, self-possessed Captain Kirk – manner.

But now...

‘Oh God, it’s me. This highly intelligent man. This sensitive, gentle being has chosen me to be the one. To be the one to do _what_ exactly?’ Kirk was close to wringing his hands for all his crew to see in a highly un-Captainly manner.

And now he had Spock somehow let down once again. He had led the way into this room full of silent, sad faces that were looking upon the Vulcan with the utmost respect and pity and Spock had followed. He had been right behind him as always.

Kirk felt that being Spock’s friend meant much, much more than just ‘gracing’ this ‘unfortunate being’ with his presence. It meant having the privilege to be basking in the air surrounding the First Officer. It meant being unexplainable happy that the man was still alive and kicking. It meant nearly sobbing like a little boy upon hearing the deep baritone after much too long a time.

‘I am the fortunate one. Not he. Kirk, you aren’t the hub of the world. You need to get that one straight,’ he thought, while massaging one temple.

“Okay, everyone. Back to your work,” he said loud and harsh, while turning swiftly around with his chair towards the viewscreen showing the two planets chasing one another.

Slowly every last pair of eyes were turning back towards their respective station. The air seemed stale and tense.

Spock’s return to the bridge had been nothing the ‘victorious entry’ like Kirk would have thought, if he had given it a second to ponder.

Rather it had been a shameful affair full of confusion and not knowing how to act due to his own failure. Seldom had he felt the weight of all the lives on the Enterprise depending on him more and heavier upon his shoulders.

 

“Captain?” Uhura said right after the Alpha shift, sidling up to Kirk who had shot out of his chair and was impatiently standing in front of the lift doors while everyone else was still handing over their stations.

The hazel eyes were throwing her a swift look then he visibly steeled himself and turned towards her, which was somewhat of a surprise. Somehow she had thought he would brush her off. The look on his face had been one of unhappiness and strain. But now he seemed collected and his face took an expression of polite interest. Really a surprise. A pleasant one.

“Yes, Lieutenant? How can I help you?” he answered, stepping away from the opening doors of the lift, looking like he would take his time to patiently hear what the woman had to say.

A pleased smile curved Uhura’s lips and she said, “I just wanted to know, if the meeting will still be held tonight? Observation Deck 4, 1800?”

Kirk bit slightly into the tip of his tongue, but nodded nonetheless. He had promised them the meeting and he would stand by his word.

‘Maybe I can also use the opportunity to talk to them about what has happened today,’ he thought, glancing over towards the Science Station, where something extraordinary was happening that made him do a double take.

Spock was standing with the small woman who had taken over for him the past days and was talking to her; rather she was excitedly talking, now and again leaning across the scanner and pointing something out and he had his head tilted towards her slightly and was listening with his usual, cool demeanour.

Somehow he hadn’t thought, Spock would...

“It’s really nice, isn’t it? I would have thought he would shut himself totally off from everybody. But it seems like he really tries. It’s almost painful to watch,” the soft voice of Uhura said very near to him. She was almost whispering – for which he was thankful. Nobody needed to know that. He took a little step closer towards her.

“You are right. I haven’t watched him the whole shift, did he...”

Uhura nodded slightly.

“He has spoken to one or two... He almost sought them out it seemed. Really curious. But he always has this... safety space between himself and everyone else.”

Kirk contemplated Spock until the Vulcan raised his eyes slightly from the bowed, blonde head of the small woman and was looking above her and straight into – hazel eyes watching him from the far end of the bridge.

Kirk felt a hot blush creep up his neck and tried valiantly to fight it down.

“Well, uh. I have to go now, Lieutenant. The meeting still stands. 1800, Observation Deck 4. I’ll be there,” Kirk mumbled hastily and fled as fast as his dignity allowed it.

Uhura grinned, turned around towards Spock who had tilted his head to one side and was slightly raising one eyebrow and raised her arm in order to wave towards him.

The almost affronted look entering his austere features made her giggle.

 

Spock was kneeling upon his meditation mat. He was wearing the dark robe that felt pleasantly cool upon his searing, Vulcan skin. His head was bowed respectfully before the idol above him and he took deep, measured breaths in order to absorb the scented smoke of the burning incense deep into his lungs.

The slightly trembling hands were resting clasped together in his lap and he slowly detached himself from the feelings and impressions coursing through his body in order to fully concentrate on the vast canvas his mind provided.

He opened his inner eyes and gazed upon the plain, crisp whiteness in front of him, before he gently disentangled one of the pictures in the forefront of his mind and laid it upon the blankness. A smile tugged on the corners of his inner self as he started to slowly circle the picture of himself on the bridge and started to contemplate the way he was standing in relation to the Ensign he had been talking too, then the way all the machines were blinking and showing information, then the way Kirk and Uhura were standing at the far end of the bridge, then Ensign Chekov glancing with apprehension towards himself while signing over his station towards the woman from Beta shift.

It felt so right to finally be able to slowly and carefully analyze his inner workings again. It gave him a profound feeling of peace and quiet despite the challenging day.

The smile tugging at his being vanished, while he searched for all the emotions being coupled with the pictures of the Alpha shift and carefully placed them atop the canvas. The visualization of his moods and feelings was far less accurate than the clear pictures his eidetic memory could provide.

The colours and contours exploding before his eyes sometimes held him awake at night; he didn’t know if other – pure bred – Vulcans had the same inner workings as he. Never had he brought the subject up with his father or other children his age. It seemed far too intimate to speak of it.

He kind of... cherished to gaze upon the myriad of colours and shapes. Cherished them in a shamed way one does indulge in a favourite hobby.

He didn’t understand most of them. He had no reference of mind in order to put them in the proper frame they should be looked at and understood; and how exactly should he know? No one had ever talked to him about the many differences in emotions when he had been a small child; and certainly no one dared to talk with him about them now that he was an adult. He had made sure of that.

And yet...

‘Fascinating...’ he thought, while gazing reverently up at the swirling blacks and blues, towering over him and ascending in mind boggling rhythms into the endless heaven of his inner workings.

Every now and again a curious golden-green colour broke through the dark endlessness and made it look like a great, sick animal.

Spock let his awareness slowly rotate the huge pillar, closer towards the specks of gold-and-green.

‘Most curious...’ he thought and stepped slowly back from his contemplation; he had the nagging feeling someone wanted to reach to him through his meditation.

Spock had to reluctantly put all the colours and forms and pictures back to the places where they belonged, before he slowly got up from his meditation mat and walked towards the door to his quarters.

 

It was 2100 and Kirk was suitably sure that Spock wasn’t already in bed. The Captain was standing next to the door to the quarters of the First Officer and slowly kicking with the heel of his boot against its surface, waiting to be let in.

He was coming straight from the meeting he had had with the Alpha shift and he had to admit that he didn’t want to be alone right now. Not after the things he had told them and the looks of horrified pity from Lieutenant Uhura.

But where was he to go, when Bones – his usual personal confession booth – was being grumpy on a planet far away from the Enterprise?

His feet obviously had known the answer for they had brought him right to Mr. Spock’s rooms.

Kirk hadn’t really realized how hard his shoulder muscles had become until the door swished open and Spock was standing there in his dark meditation robes. He felt like a huge, comfortably warm hand had caressed his back – his muscles were loose and pliable all of a sudden.

A huge grin broke out on his face and he didn’t care for how pathetic he sounded, when he said, “Mr. Spock! I hope I didn’t disturb you? Can I come in for a little... ah... nightcap?”

 

Spock opened his mouth. Everything in his being was suddenly at war, gazing upon his commanding Officer. Part of him wanted to send him away out of the sudden tense nervousness befalling him; another part wanted to very much invite him in and bask in the presence of his ever boisterous Captain and maybe glimpse upon the welcoming emotions being so strongly projected from him...

Only that Kirk didn’t look as boisterous or welcoming right now. He was looking... strained and pleading and like he very badly needed something Spock was not sure he could provide.

The Vulcan stepped back and wanted to deny access for the other being. He couldn’t handle something like that. Not something that intense. Not now. Not so soon.

But when his chocolate brown eyes caught sight of the tortured hazel ones and he realized their golden-green colour was the same as the one shooting holes in the large, black-blue pillars on his canvas, he just couldn’t send Kirk away.

Spock stepped aside and tilted his head in confirmation.

“Please come inside, Captain,” he said; his dark baritone deep and welcoming.

Kirk’s answering smile was so thankful that Spock had to look away.

“Thank you, Spock.”

“You are... most welcome.”

 

“Commander Scott! Our shields are detecting something. I’m not sure...”

The Ensign quickly stepped aside as the Scottsman blundered over to him and leaned over the screen he had just stared at disbelievingly. The Chief Engineer whistled quietly between his teeth and tapped with his right index finger upon the offending text blinking on the screen.

“What the...” he murmured perplex.

 

Spock was watching Kirk from a safe distance. The Captain was currently fighting with the replicator in Spock’s rooms in order to get something alcoholic out of it that didn’t taste like dishwashing water.

“Please excuse me, Captain. I’ll be going to change my clothes,” the Vulcan said and slipped into his sleeping alcove. Kirk just murmured a distracted, “Yeah, yeah, you do that.”

When Spock came back, clad in his usual uniform, he found the Captain lying unselfconsciously on his narrow, uncomfortable couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other thrown over his stomach, gripping a glass with amber liquid.

The Vulcan was silent, while he dragged a chair over to the lying figure and slowly made himself comfortable beside Kirk. He normally felt quite at ease in the presence of his commanding Officer. Despite Kirk being woefully often a highly illogical human being, his antics usually forced Spock to abandon his strict Vulcan control to some degree.

It was quite... a relieve not to always watch oneself. Now, however, he was far out of his depth and comfort zone with Kirk lying on his couch like the epitome of dejection. His long, twitching fingers were drumming a silent beat upon his kneecaps.

“Captain. How may I... assist you?” he said after a while, painfully aware as to how stilted his speech sounded. He knew that Kirk probably wouldn’t have sought him out if it wasn’t for Doctor McCoy being ensconced on the planet Mektor. Spock filed the pang of disappointment away for further dissection later on.

“Just... sit with me, will you?” Kirk mumbled and slowly slid the arm blocking his view away in order to glance towards the man sitting stiffly at his side.

Spock just looked at him with those chocolate brown doe eyes. His eyebrows were raised a fraction and the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly downward.

For Kirk and his new sense for the Vulcan crewmember of the Enterprise it looked like Spock was very much trying not to freak out in light of his Captain behaving so highly uncharacteristic.

“You afraid of me, Mr. Spock?” he said after a while and took a sip from his glass. The lean body jerked slightly and he quickly looked back towards his friend, seeing the fleeting look of unmentionable panic upon his face.

Kirk quickly sat up – splashing his hand in the process with the liquid in his glass – and gazed intently upon the Vulcan who was staring stubbornly upon the hands fisted in his regulation trousers.

“What? What have I done?” Kirk asked with an intense, low voice.

Spock slowly exhaled and shook his head.

“Please, Captain. Think nothing of it. It is just something I...” Spock cast about for an appropriate way to express his highly illogical reaction; but it was immensely difficult in light of the words of his Captain being so similar to the ones Kirk had spoken in his last dream.

The man, however, surprised him with a sudden insight in his being that made him gaze wonderingly at Kirk.

“A bad dream, Spock? Don’t sweat it. Today seems to be the night of bad dreams and memories,” Kirk said roughly, licking the liquid from the skin of his right hand before shrugging and rubbing his hand dry on the fabric of his trousers.

“Spock, you’re a good listener, aren’t you? I watched you today with that Ensign. You can listen pretty good. That’s a good feature, you know? To be able to just sit and listen to other people being sad and pathetic.”

Spock realized with a start, that Kirk was rambling. He eyed the glass in the other man’s hand, but discarded the notion of him being drunk right away.

Kirk wouldn’t be drunk that easily.

Nonetheless, the Captain seemed to be in a pretty melancholy mood. He just watched him, unsure as to how to react and trying to get a clue from him. Kirk smiled at Spock, when the Vulcan just observed.

It was a real smile; no boisterous I-can-do-it smile, no seductive I-can-get-you smile.

It was a real James Tiberius Kirk smile full of thanks and friendship for this quiet man who seemed to be the whole opposite of his in every way imaginable.

Spock blinked slowly when this thought flittered through his mind.

 

Uhura was striding through the Enterprise. Her brow was furrowed in concentration of quite a few things. The Captain seemed to have presented them with his very essence tonight. It had been quite a... humbling experience to see this joyful, self-assured man reduced to this solemn, profoundly sad creature. Uhura would have never... _never_ thought it possible for a human being to carry this much guilt and sorrow with itself.

When she tried to pry her thoughts away from this disturbing image, however, they always just came back to the Mektorians and the colour pattern she was not able to discern.

She started to think that they were barking up the entirely wrong tree.

Lieutenant Uhura was on her way to the engineering deck. Maybe she could persuade Montgomery for a little game of cards and get her mind off all these depressing images.

She wasn’t watching her surroundings while walking and was therefore quite surprised to suddenly be grabbed out of the dark and drawn away. Her big eyes got even bigger, as she struggled to break free of the iron hard grip, but a hard hit to her head made her small figure slump into unconsciousness.

 

“When does one know that he or she has succeeded as a leader? Just as long as nobody dies? Or as long as there are no fights? As long as one is loved? Or just as long as the ones who left you in charge are happy with your style?”

Kirk cringed slightly upon hearing the words leave his mouth. God he was being a wimp. Everything had been just well and orderly on the Enterprise up until a week ago. Why was he now on a quest of personal crisis? Where had that come from?

He chanced a look towards Spock and was a little surprised to see the First Officer deep in contemplation. His dark, chocolate eyes far away and with that glint of high intelligence in them that always put him in awe of the Vulcan.

It didn’t happen often that he could engage the intellect of Spock in such a way that the man had to sit and think for a moment; but when it happened, Kirk felt like the king of the world.

“These are highly philosophical questions, sir,” Spock said at last and laid the full battery of his contemplating gaze upon the golden skinned man.

“There are myriads of literature pertaining this subject. Many of them revolve around the very idea of leadership itself; regarding its necessity in societies as far advanced as, for example, the human or Vulcan ones. Others concern themselves more specifically with questions not unlike the ones you just uttered.”

Kirk realized with awe that Spock was in full lecture mode and leaned slightly forward towards the Vulcan, leaning with his elbows upon his knees. He absently sipped on the cognac he had been able to replicate, while he listened rapturously to the dark voice.

One week ago he had thought he would never hear this again. Spock seemed so unselfconscious that he even forgot to be ashamed for his slightly sluggish speech.

Spock gazed right into the sparkling hazel eyes and steepled the tips of his trembling fingers without sparing them so much as a glance. He was just too invested in this ethical line of thought coming out of one of the most unlikely quarters.

“I would like to review a few of these literatures in order to give you an in-depth answer. However, I could tell you what I personally think of this... dilemma you are in.”

Spock fell silent for a few moments; he was regarding Kirk with quiet but interested contemplation, before he said, “A leader can only be a leader, if there are people to lead and if they let him. If the people on the Enterprise, for example, were not in favour of one entity to take all the decision upon his or her shoulders, they would not be here. It is, however, not possible to cater to all the needs in equal measures. There will always be things one says or does that will go against the personal believes of others or will force them to rebel. The burden of a leader is to keep a level head and not to loose out of sight what is most important: the wellbeing of a community as a whole.”

Spock’s eyes slid off to one side and a wry smile twisted his delicately curved lips, before he said, “Although Doctor McCoy certainly would argue with me over that like he has over so many other aspects of life.”

Kirk snorted and took another deep sip from his beverage. Spock’s words were rolling heavily around his skull and he needed to think them over before he could adequately answer.

 

“Commander Scott! There are more activities in the energy field around the Enterprise! It’s almost like... uuuh... Mr. Scott...?!”

The Ensign sounded distinctly panicked by this time.

 

Spock slowly sat back in his chair and regarded Kirk with a solemn stare. While the Captain obviously thought through what he had been saying, he analyzed the other man.

Kirk was stockier than he; shorter and with a broader chest. He did not have the long runner’s legs Spock himself possessed, but the Vulcan knew from numerous occasions in the gym and on away missions that the thick muscles of Kirk’s thighs were capable of devilishly fast sprints.

Where Spock’s skin was pale as the light of the earth moon, Kirk’s was as golden as the sun of their solar system. Where Spock’s hair was as deeply black as the void surrounding them, Kirk’s was of a golden brown colour that was very pleasing to look at.

Where Spock’s eyes were dark and unchangeable, Kirk’s were from the most mesmerizing hazel the Vulcan had ever seen.

‘But it’s his mind...’

Spock gazed down at his lap, while he thought about all the times Kirk’s unorthodox way of thinking had helped them all out of trouble. The mind of this curious creature was really most... adaptable. Spock was not quite sure, if Kirk knew just how much he loved the input of this changeable, vigorous mind.

A slight electrical shiver ran through his being and an almost reverent expression appeared on his austere features.

 

“Captain... Jim.”

Kirk looked over towards Spock who had interrupted his musings. The open, wondrous expression on the pale features strummed on some string in his own being. His mouth went dry.

“Yes, Spock?”

“May I call you I’ki sa-kai?”

 

Spock saw a wondrous smile bloom on the pale pink lips of his Captain and the slightly confused twitch in the light brown eyebrows.

“Um... Sure, Spock. But what – “

He wanted to explain himself and the term the human no doubt would not understand otherwise, when the red light above his door started to flash and the Enterprise was flooded with the red alert.

The two men spared only one last glance to one another, before they got up and nearly flew out of the room.

 

“Status report. What has happened?” Kirk strode purposefully towards his chair and plopped down in it, while Spock relieved the young man on the Science Station.

“Someone has breached the Enterprise’s energy shields. Mr. Scott has just called in and – “

“Captain to Chief Engineer Scott.” Kirk’s finger had been on the button of the intercom before the Ensign could finish her report. Everyone on the bridge was silent, while Spock busied himself with the information flitting over his screen.

“Captain. I don’t know how this could happen, but – they are gone. The prisoners in the brig have been teleported out from under our noses.”

The silence on the bridge grew unbearably tense. Kirk looked towards the Science Station out of the corner of his eyes. Spock had gone deathly quiet.

“What do you mean? How could this happen?” Kirk hissed, curling his hands into tight fists.

“I don’t know, Captain! But they were... they were seven prisoners, aye? Because the signatures being transported outwards... They’re eight, sir!”

Kirk swallowed down a strained moan. Now was not the time to loose his head.

“Any clues as to whom the eighth signature belongs to?”

“None as of yet, sir. We are working on it.”

Kirk was not able to answer for a young Ensign at the Communication’s Station piped up.

“Incoming message from Prechta, sir.”

Dread filled the Captain slowly like a dripping poison. His mouth was far too dry to articulate something so he just waved to the Ensign to show the message.

The wide view screen flickered to life and the face of a man with bald head and intricate, colourful tattoos was on display.

He didn’t look very remarkable. Kirk could discern that the patterns on his skin had more sharp angles and points, but that was the only difference he could detect between the Mektorians and the Prechtans.

They were, after all, heralding from one and the same source, so it was only logical that they would look very much alike.

“Captain Kirk?” the man drawled with a big, nasty looking smile on his features. Kirk slowly nodded.

“Good. My name is Wa’ak. I won’t make this long for our demands are very, very simple.”

He gave a sign to something or someone standing just outside the range of the camera and turned back towards Kirk.

“Either you comply to our demands, or this lovely lady will... ah... meet with a most unfortunate end.”

Kirk’s gut plummeted and somehow he knew that lady to be Uhura even before she was dragged into the background of the screen by a few grinning Andorians. She was looking equal parts furious and terrified.

Kirk heard someone say ‘What are your demands?’ and was kind of surprised to note, that it had been his own calm voice.

“You take that big weapons from your wonderful ship and blast Mektor into pieces. That’s all. You can have her back after that; we won’t even harm a little hair upon her pretty head.”

A few seconds of baffled silence reigned on the bridge. Wa’ak grinned one more time his nasty smile and slightly tilted his head.

“I will leave you to ponder your decision. I will contact you in about an hour. Good day, Captain.”

The screen went dark and Kirk slowly turned around in his chair to look over at Spock. The Vulcan was impassively staring back.


	14. Chapter 14

‘A whole planet?! He wants us to destroy a whole planet in exchange for... Uhura?’ Kirk thought dazedly, while he slowly stood up from his Captain’s chair. A deep, helpless feeling permeated his being as the implications slowly made themselves apparent in his slightly overwrought brain.

He could not possibly destroy a planet. He just couldn’t.

‘Then Uhura... must die.’ All the little hair on his body were standing on end after this morose thought.

He was painfully cognizant of the stares from the crew on the bridge. Helpless children seeking advice from their ever-knowing father.

‘What they don’t know, however, is that I’m just as helpless as they are. I have no magical cure for this...’ he thought, while straightening his posture and squaring his broad shoulders. He had no clue what to do – but he would not let them down. Never.

Nonetheless, Kirk was almost pathetically thankful when Spock broke through his musings with his usual stoically calm voice, “Captain. I may have thought of something. Would you mind accompanying me to the Engineering Deck and Mr. Scott? I will need to talk to him and we have... ‘approximately one hour’ before the Prechtan leader will contact us again.”

‘God, what would I ever do without you, Spock? I could _kiss_ you right now...’

Kirk blinked a few times dazedly, while standing in front of the lift doors and waiting for it to arrive. Where had that thought come from? A cold, hard shiver raced down his spine and his stomach felt like an iron fist had its relentless grip on it.

 

Either it was a sign for Scotty’s unwavering professionalism or his frantic love for all things technical that he only so much as batted an eyelash upon seeing the First Officer enter the deep bowels of the Enterprise where he was currently working on figuring out how the bloomin’ hell the Prechtans had been able to teleport prisoners – and one crew member – out of a Starship of the Federation; and right under their noses no less!

Whichever of the two it was – it didn’t matter to Kirk at the moment. He fixed the Scottsman with a hard glance and jutted his chin forward.

“Mr. Scott. Can you tell me how it was possible for them to teleport _prisoners_ out of the _Enterprise_?” he hissed, crossing his arms above his chest.

He could see Spock out of the corner of his eyes make a jerking motion, which the Vulcan immediately aborted. When he turned his head towards him, he saw a slightly impatient glitter in the dark eyes, but otherwise he seemed as impassive as ever.

“- had detected an anomaly, but we weren’t able to figure out fast enough what this meant. It seems like the Prechtans were able to decipher the protection the energy fields around the Enterprise provide and to disable them just at the right spot,” Scotty was saying with such a profoundly baffled and irritated expression on his earnest face that it would have been humorous, if the whole situation wasn’t so infuriating.

Spock piped in, “That is not possible. They would have needed the exact plans of the Enterprise.”

Scotty ground his teeth together. “And don’t I know it, Commander? Someone on the Enterprise must’ve given them the needed data. That’s the only explanation I got.”

Kirk’s hackles started to rise and he made a nearly threatening step towards the Chief Engineer.

“Are you saying we have a spy upon the Enterprise, Scotty?!” he hissed and narrowed his eyes. He never liked hearing the suspicion that one of his crew was to be a traitor.

“Captain...” The dark baritone voice of Spock made him turn around immediately. The dark eyes were far away and contemplating something only they could see. For a split second Kirk thought that Spock was looking beautiful like that; it left him even more disoriented than his stray thought from before about kissing him. Kissing him, for Christ’s sake!

‘I’m going nuts!’ he thought desperately, while asking with a calm and almost polite voice – as if they weren’t in the middle of a crisis, “Yes, Mr. Spock? What is it?”

Spock was silent for a few seconds before turning towards the Captain and inclining his head slightly.

“First I would suggest that you try a more objective view regarding the individuals on the Enterprise. While I understand that you as their commanding Officer have developed some kind of... attachment to them, it would be unwise to disregard the simple fact that they are, above all else, human beings; they have failures just as every other human being and they will act accordingly. However, to be more precise, after recent developments I would concede that not only humans are prone to treachery and unfaithfulness.”

Kirk stared at Spock slightly dumbfounded. His emotions were wreaking havoc inside himself. Stung pride wanted him to roar in indignation and fight the implications Spock had thrown at his feet like a gauntlet. Another part of him registered only too well the thinly veiled reference towards Spock’s abduction from the fake Andorian crewmember.

His gut clenched painfully and he balled his hands into tight fists. He refused to back down by looking away, but he also couldn’t bring himself to fight Spock over this. Not when the large, chocolate eyes looked at him as calm and logical as they were doing right now.

“Furthermore...” Spock said slowly. He was dragging each syllable slowly out and Kirk had the feeling, that it had nothing to do with his speech impediment this time, “... I would suggest one of Mr. Scott’s team to investigate everything in and immediately around sickbay where the injured Andorian crewmember had resided.”

Scotty made a strange noise that seemed to be part realisation and part indignation about the thought that someone had dared to touch his silver lady. Kirk could just shake his head in baffled wonderment. In the years he had been working together with the Vulcan he had often been confronted with the vast intelligence of this creature – that didn’t mean, however, that he ever got used to it.

Spock slowly brought his hands – twitching more than usual, maybe due to the stress at the moment – behind his back and regarded the Chief Engineer with a solemn expression.

“Mr. Scott. Were you able to finish the work on the Cloaking Device?”

Scotty’s eyebrows twitched slightly before his face lit up in understanding and a broad grin spread itself on his round face.

“Aye, sir! Well, that is... I’m nearly finished... I need help and lotsa more trial runs, but – “

“What are you talking about? What have you two been up to?” Kirk interjected, sensing that his Chief Engineer was gearing up for a speech riddled with techno-babble.

Spock turned towards his Captain and Kirk frowned slightly. The slant of Spock’s left eyebrow was slightly more prominent than usual – an indicator for the impatience of the Vulcan.

Nonetheless, the First Officer’s answer was calm and collected, “You obviously remember our part in the ... recovery... of the Romulan Cloaking Device. Mr. Scott and I have been attempting for the past weeks to construct a similar device that would act upon humanoid life forms instead of only a mechanical construct.”

Kirk was many things; but slow on the uptake was none of them. He felt excitement like an electrical charge run through his body and he turned swiftly around.

“You two go working on that device and I’ll try to get us as much time as possible. Don’t take too long!” he called over his shoulder while he started to run back towards the bridge.

He thought that he heard a ‘Yes, Captain’ quite clearly in his mind, but that was obviously not possible because a heavy steel door was already between himself and the Vulcan, whose baritone voice he thought he had heard.

 

“Well, Captain? What is your decision?” There was the ugly smile on Wa’ak’s face again. Kirk wanted to smash it in with a well placed punch to his face. He surreptitiously balled his hand into a tight fist behind his thigh and mimed the unperturbed Starship Captain.

“We can not comply to your demands. Thousands of lives are at stake, not to mention the flora and fauna of a whole planet. As a Starship of the Federation we are unable to commit such a heinous act,” he intoned carefully; each word spoken with the heavy authority of James T. Kirk, Captain of the best ship in Starfleet.

The silence on the bridge was suffocating and he felt a faint nausea creep upon him at he thought of a very similar situation only one week prior. Only there had been a blue face gloating on the screen, while the Vulcan First Officer had been tortured in the background...

He couldn’t see Lieutenant Uhura and didn’t dare to ask where she was or in what condition. He didn’t want to draw their attention towards her.

The Prechtan leader seemed baffled for a moment. His eyebrows twitched slightly and his face contorted in rage, while the symbols on his head were flaring in a deep magenta. He looked off to one side and made a harsh abortive gesture with one hand. One could see his lips move, spittle flying from them, as he obviously raged at someone out of view; however, nothing was to be heard. They obviously had cut the audio connection.

Kirk slowly relaxed his fist and let a deep sense of satisfaction wash over him. These Prechtans obviously had no clue as to how a negotiation had to be conducted. They seemed naive – or dumb – and willing for any means of aggression – as they already had shown by engaging the Andorians in their foul plans.

It was a dangerous mixture – willingness to hurt others, paired with lack of common knowledge – but it could also play in their hands, if they did everything right.

Kirk forced his face into a mask of calm authority; it wouldn’t do to let the other man see the glee in his hazel eyes.

Finally Wa’ak seemed to be satisfied with whatever had been going on and he gestured once more. The audio was back in place and the Prechtan cleared his throat slightly.

“Captain Kirk. You are aware that we have one of your crewmen in custody, are you not?”

It was hard to understand the man. The translator was all of a sudden struggling with the words he used. Kirk frowned slightly and leaned forward in his chair, looking intently at Wa’ak.

“Of course I am aware,” he said slowly.

“Then you are aware what will happen to her, if you do not comply with our demands?” the Prechtan leader said. There was a glint in his eye Kirk definitely did not like.

‘An explosive mixture, indeed... Uhura...’ he thought. Nausea once again lapping at the insides of his stomach. He straightened his spine.

“I already told you that we are unable to comply to your demands, Wa’ak,” he insisted. Kirk sensed that he was loosing the other man whose face once again transformed into a mask of rage.

“However...” he quickly said, standing up from his chair and holding his empty hands in front of him. “We are in close contact with Mektor. I am sure we can ... work something out that will satisfy both planets. There is no need for such drastic measures.”

Wa’ak’s face contorted in disgust.

“What is or is not needed is solely to be judged by our Gods. Their wishes are our commands and they told me personally – “ he laid his heavy fist upon his chest in order to drive his point home, “ – to see to it that their demands are dealt with.”

Kirk pressed his lips together into a thin line, before he said, “But the Mektorians have the exact same Gods as you do. How can it be that they are benevolent and kind in their society and in yours their wish is to wipe out a whole planet? A planet where they are also worshipped, nonetheless, it just doesn’t add up!”

Kirk realized the second he closed his mouth that he had made a terrible mistake. Wa’ak’s face flushed a deep, angry red, while the colours of his tattoos changed so rapidly that it made the Captain sick to look at it.

He obviously had touched upon a raw nerve. He didn’t need to know the colour patterns in order to understand that. His heart plummeted straight trough his body and into the floor, it seemed, as the leader of the Prechtans began to scream, “You dare to question the will of our Gods?! You dare to question me, the devoted servant of their every whim?”

He visibly reigned in his temper. Breathing heavily; his voice came as a dry rasp, “I will give you time to contemplate your decision, Captain. I won’t contact you again, but rest assured that for every hour Mektor still orbits our two suns, the woman will suffer. Let’s see... ah... yes. We make it interesting: For every hour you fail to comply to our demands one bone in her body gets broken. Beginning – “ he looked off to the side. Kirk’s thoughts were racing inside his head and he was unable to grasp one and force it out of his mouth. He was standing there and gaping while a terrible snapping sound lashed through the speakers on the bridge, followed by the high pitched shriek of a woman. Wa’ak looked perversely satisfied. “ – now. You know what to do, Captain.”

And with that the connection was cut and a terrible silence reigned upon the bridge.

 

“Status report, Spock?!”

“I will contact you as soon as the device is functional, Captain. It is detrimental to our progress, if you insist on calling us every ten minutes.”

“They must’ve broken another bone, Spock...”

“I am aware of that fact, Captain. It doesn’t, however, change anything of our current situation. Mr. Scott and I are working as fast as we can. I have to admit that my... physical shortcomings are slowing our progress somewhat down.”

A lump formed in Kirk’s throat and he had to swallow around it in order to rasp with a hoarse whisper, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Spock. You’re doing what you can; everyone knows that. Just... just try. Please.”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes until he remembered where he was; Kirk straightened his spine in stubborn, male pride and threw a fierce look around. The call to Prechta was nearly three hours old. Soon another bone in Uhura’s body would be broken. The thought sickened him to no end. This sadistic bastard. Kirk would put his hands personally around his throat and –

“Captain Kirk. Incoming message from... from the Potemkin, sir,” the Ensign on the Communication’s Station spoke up. Kirk nearly leapt out of his chair in pure joy. Potemkin...! Reinforcements!

“On the screen, Ensign!” he ordered, a broad grin on his face, which he quickly wiped away in order to look more professional.

And hell, never had he been more relieved to see the craggy, no-nonsense face of Captain Grigori. The older man was looking at Kirk with a haughty air of superiority that normally annoyed Kirk to no end; this time, however, he elected not to rise to the bait and simply inclined his head in polite greeting.

“Kirk. We received a few of your distress calls,” Grigori said by way of greeting and slowly looked around the parts of the bridge he could see through the viewscreen. Kirk nodded.

“We are having problems with the planets we were supposed to bring the medicine to. We would appreciate your help.”

Grigori’s grey eyebrows shot upwards until his high forehead between them and the militaristic short hair on his head was riddled in deep wrinkles. To have Captain Kirk concede that he needed help with _anything_ was indeed news.

The Captain of the Potemkin inclined his head.

“Starfleet does, as of yet, not know that we have altered our course in order to help you. I don’t think that they’ll object to it, but it would be wise if you waited with any actions until we arrive.”

The pleasant expression on Kirk’s face slipped slightly and the thick muscles in his neck were tensing.

“And when, pray tell, are you going to arrive?” he said slowly with a calmness in his voice he really was not feeling.

Grigori raised one eyebrow and steepled his fingers in front of his stomach.

“Nineteen hours until we are in orbit, Captain Kirk. It is a long journey after all.”

Kirk was suddenly standing up, his torso slightly inclined forwards as if preparing for a physical fight.

“Nineteen hours! We can not wait that long, Grigori. I have to act. Preferably three hours ago,” he said heatedly and gritted his teeth upon seeing the other man slowly shake his head.

“Negative, Kirk. I am already risking a lot by leaving the patrols of my own quadrant and coming to aid the Enterprise. You have to wait, until further instructions from Starfleet – “

“Do you even know what is at stake here, Grigori? They have one of my crew. They are _torturing_ her as we speak! I can’t sit here and twiddle my thumbs until the Potemkin is here!” Kirk interrupted, leaning further towards the viewscreen. His hazel eyes were sparking with fire and determination. Grigori’s face got, if even possible, harder and he sat back in his Captain’s chair.

“The situation is already botched up enough, Captain. We won’t have you run down there guns ablaze and kicking in the hornet’s nest. If you were unable to detect the threat from the planet’s inhabitants and therefore have jeopardized a life of one of your crew, it is you alone who’ll have to answer for that. Don’t make further mistakes by dragging everyone else into it, as well.”

Grigori waited for a moment, watching Kirk with calm, steel grey eyes. He was obviously just waiting for the temperamental man to explode and scream at him. The tensing of the muscles in Kirk’s neck slowly wandered down into his arms, causing his thick muscles to knot themselves together. The golden material of his shirt was tightly stretched.

His hazel eyes, however, were hard and unyielding while he stared straight back at Grigori.

“I will do what I estimate to be the best course of action. I thank you for your help, Captain, but I think everything will already have been... concluded,” he said slowly, jutting his chin forward in an act of defiance. Grigori clicked with his tongue and held his empty hands upwards. He was looking like a father dealing with an unruly child.

“I’d think about it, if I were you, Kirk. Starfleet won’t be thrilled to hear of your insubordination.”

Kirk gritted his teeth together, his pale pink lips pressed into a narrow line. Instead of hope and relief the Potemkin seemed to carry only more pressure and problems. They had to act.

 

“Sir, I’m not happy with this. The devices need way more test runs. What if they... if they malfunction or something?” Scotty was wringing his hands and looking beseechingly at his Captain who was slowly rotating one of the flat, rectangular things in his hands.

The black objects were to be attached on the fabric of his clothes and would render him invisible with only the press of a button.

Spock was standing beside him in the transporter room and was handling a similar object. While Kirk was turning towards the Chief Engineer, Spock was attaching the device upon his person.

“Scotty. Five hours are up. I want Uhura back. We simply can’t wait longer!” he insisted. The Scottsman was looking upset. Whether for the reminder of Uhura’s predicament or the thought of giving out an invention that was not 100% foolproof, was not entirely known for the Captain.

“You will at all times register the location of our communicators. You can retrieve from them the needed data to locate us for beam up.”

Kirk turned with a troubled expression around upon hearing the dark, velvet voice. He was a little baffled to see... nothing. Where the tall Vulcan had stood just a moment prior, only empty air was to be seen. He shook his head and reached an arm forward towards the last location of his First Officer.

He could hear the silent clicking of Spock’s heels as the Vulcan surreptitiously stepped away from the grasping digits.

Kirk cleared his throat.

“I don’t think it is wise for you to accompany me, Spock. You are just out of sickbay...”

“Captain. I am able to analyze foreign technology or any other alien devices. It would be only ... logical for me to accompany you.”

Kirk stared hard at the spot where the baritone had come from. Spock was bluffing and he was not entirely sure if he should call the Vulcan on it. The whole mission was dangerous and the other man still injured.

However, he had seen the troubled glint in the dark eyes upon entering the transporter room and the tense set in the narrow shoulders told him more than a loud scream that the man was unhappy with the current situation. Spock was thinking of the Lieutenant.

“Logical... yes. It is ... logical,” he said slowly, pressing the button on his device. A slight humming sound filled his ears and he could see from the smug look on Scotty’s face that it had obviously worked.

“Let us go. I don’t want to waste any more time. Scotty, you know what to do?”

“Aye sir. Good luck to you both. Bring the young lady back to us.”

 

The heat pressing down on them was surprising despite Kirk having witnessed it a couple days ago. He looked around in order to see whether Spock, too, was troubled by the temperatures but had to admit that that had been a quite foolish notion.

For one, Spock was invisible and he could not even tell if the Vulcan was with him at the moment. For another, Spock was a creature from the desert. Of course the temperatures were no problem for him. Kirk shook his head with a slight sigh and nearly sprang when a large hand pressed itself between his shoulder blades. Spock’s low voice filled his ear over the gentle humming of the device.

“I can see the entrance, Captain. We should make haste.”

The human nodded and closed his eyes briefly in self-castigation. Spock could not see him, damn it!

“Of course,” he murmured and followed the slight pressure of the hot hand in his back. The Vulcan immediately ended the touch upon feeling that Kirk had obviously spotted the gentle hill in the distance.

 

Kirk felt inexplicably giddy, while they were stealthily making their way through the underground tunnels of the Prechtan city. Despite the fact that he felt even more pressured here than he had on Mektor – the faces of the Gods were indeed not as benevolent or playful as their counterparts on the other planet – he had to admit that it was somehow... fun to traverse the corridors with the knowledge that they could not be seen. The silent humming of the cloaking device on his chest was evidence enough that they were still invisible and quite secure.

Add to that the fact that Spock’s hotter-than-human hand occasionally touched him briefly on bicep or shoulder in order to guide his attention towards one guard or another...

Little electrical surges were originating from the contact points and he decided early on that he would not question them and just... go with the flow.

His quiet glee, however, came to an abrupt halt when they both heard a scream in the not too far distance. It was high pitched and even without Spock’s tersely muttered ‘Lieutenant Uhura’, Kirk knew who it had belonged to.

They quickened their steps through the long hallway. Doors were leading left and right into rooms or other hallways – they were not sure. Kirk suspected that Spock had thrown more than one yearning, scientific glance at them, but the Vulcan kept a totally professional air and would not be deterred from his mission.

They were approaching voices, but had to come to full stops more than one time when doors opened and guards or other Prechtorian people were coming their way.

Both men were rounding a corner; Kirk came to an abrupt halt and nearly didn’t register Spock slightly bumping into him from behind. The Captain felt a prickling sensation running up his spine and he whispered upon Spock’s questioning murmur, “That big door at the end... It has to be important, don’t you think? Uhura’s nearby and they would have her with them in case they want to make new demands.”

Spock seemed to immediately grasp what was going through the human’s head, for his long fingers were curling around Kirk’s bicep in a steel grip.

“No, Captain. We came for the Lieutenant. We will get her and immediately leave.”

Kirk didn’t say anything. His gaze was glued upon the important looking double doors. He let himself be led further down the corridor and only really started registering his surroundings again upon hearing a high whimper and Spock’s sharply indrawn breath.

The Captain looked around. They were standing at the entrance of another hallway. One could see that one side of the room was full of holding cells. Opposite one of them was only one guard sitting; one of the Andorians.

They obviously had currently only one prisoner – Lieutenant Uhura, if the high whimpers were anything to go by.

“Spock?” The syllable was not more than a breath rushing out of Kirk’s lungs. Nonetheless the Vulcan had heard him. Only because Kirk primed himself for it, could he hear the panther like steps the other man was taking towards the blue skinned alien.

For a second the Captain tensed, fearing Spock would do something drastic to one of his torturers; however, his fears were unfounded, when he saw the alien simply slump in his chair upon being nerve pinched from the invisible enemy.

While Kirk ran to the cell the guard had been observing, he heard Spock rummage behind him for the keys. Kirk’s gut clenched painfully upon seeing the dark skinned woman lying bleeding on the floor. Her arms and legs were at odd angles; it was a sickening sight to behold.

“Uhura... Lieutenant Uhura,” he whispered. She stirred slightly on her place on the floor. Her dark, swollen eyes cracked open and she croaked, “C-Captain?”

He was slightly shoved to the side and was alarmed to see Spock standing next to him. The Vulcan had obviously cancelled his cloaking device. He was handling an archaic looking key ring with several keys. While he tried opening the door, Uhura started to sob heartbreakingly, “Mr. Spock! You are here! I thought I had to die! My God...”

Kirk’s throat closed over a lump and he swallowed a few times; he was unbelievably glad for the cloaking device humming its functionality into his ear. It wouldn’t do for Uhura or Spock to see how he surreptitiously wiped tears from his eyes.

The Vulcan didn’t answer the hysterically blabbering woman. His slanted eyebrows were furrowed, while he forced his shivering, twitching fingers to comply with his demands. Finally he had found the right one and was turning it with a satisfying clicking sound.

He rushed inside, kneeling next to the contorted, diminutive figure on the floor. Kirk watched dumb from the sidelines as Spock carefully laid one of his long, pale hands upon Uhura’s black hair in a rare and clearly clumsy effort to comfort her.

She only cried more – partly trying to smile while doing it – and placed her head, despite the pain it had to cause her, on his lap.

Kirk slowly curled his fingers into tight fists upon witnessing these two together. Two members of his crew. Two living beings that were not able to hurt a fly. Two creatures that had been tortured ultimately by the same person.

White hot anger flooded his being while he thought about the smug visage of Wa’ak. His voice was a dry, hoarse rasp as he croaked, “Get her back to the Enterprise, Mr. Spock. I... have something I need to take care off.”

 

Spock was startled out of his silent contemplation of Uhura by the dry, cracking voice of his commanding Officer. A cold shiver raced down his spine and he whipped his head around. He knew immediately what the Captain was up to. “Jim! No!” he hissed, but there was no answer; and with the Captain still using the cloaking device even the Vulcan with his superior senses was not able to locate him.

Dread filled him and made his already shivering fingers twitch so hard that they were nearly useless in operating his communicator.

In his haste he nearly let it fall down. Uhura was still sobbing in his lap. For the first time he thought it a blessing that only the dullest waves of emotions were transmitting themselves through his clothes; what he could feel emanating from the woman was devastating enough in and off itself.

Finally he was able to flip the communicator open.

“Mr. Scott.”

“Aye, Mr. Spock?”

“Lock onto Lieutenant Uhura and beam her aboard the Enterprise.”

There was a pause for the fraction of a second.

“Only the Lieutenant?”

“You heard me, Mr. Scott. Hurry, we don’t have time for explanations.”

“Right away, sir.”

Spock would deny it under oath, but right now he was chewing nervously on his tongue and stared with blank eyes at Uhura. The hand that wasn’t clutching his communicator was slightly carding through her black hair. It was a purely instinctive reaction upon seeing another living being in pain and distress. His thoughts were with Kirk, wondering in what trouble the Captain was getting himself.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly between his call to the Enterprise and the first light sparkling from the prone body of the woman, which signalled her being beamed up.

He was, however, distracted from the sight by a voice that was entirely too close for his liking.

“What a sweet little surprise. I was just coming to release my friend from duty and what I find is a Vulcanwhore playing rescuer. Marvellous. How’d you get in here without being seen, anyway?”

He had made a terrible mistake in not paying attention to his surroundings. The Vulcan was fighting down sudden waves of dread and fear washing through him as his body instinctively recognized the voice.

Spock turned his head towards the entrance of the cell he was currently kneeling inside. While spotting one of the Andorian guards who had violated him only one week prior, Spock felt the weight of Uhura’s head leave his lap as the woman was teleported away.

Cold sweat sprang out on his body and his mouth became dry. One part of his brain filed all the information away with clinical, scientific interest, while another part was quite annoyed due to his inability to respond in any way to his former captor who was holding him at gunpoint at this very moment.

Spock could not have been prepared for the primal reaction of his body. The sudden confrontation with the Andorian seemed to have fully disabled him. The experience was more than a little disconcerting for the Vulcan. Never before had his body defied him so utterly.

His heart was thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird in his side, while he watched the grinning alien as it appraised him slowly and carefully obviously debating what he should do with the new captive – now that the old one had vanished.

 

Kirk, fuelled by his hate, positively ran through the halls and around corners towards the large double door he had seen earlier. In his mind it was totally clear that Spock would teleport together with Uhura to the Enterprise.

He never had grasped the concept of someone sticking with him through the very worst of times. Experiences very early in his childhood had prevented the man from even considering the possibility of someone as loyal as Spock, despite having been confronted with it more times than he cared to remember. It surprised him every time anew, after all.

As he slipped into the grand room, Kirk momentarily faltered. He saw a huge statue of some... ah... guy in the back of the room. The lights were slightly dimmed and the furniture was sparse; nonetheless a group of people was clustered at the giant feet of the statue that was looking angrily down upon them.

Dimly he remembered something Jin’xar had told them on their tour through the Mektorian underground city. Sixteen Gods and sixteen chapels dedicated to them... or something like that. Kirk nearly swore aloud as he realized that this room could very well not be what he had imagined. Wa’ak could be _anywhere_ in this damned, big rabbit hole!

Kirk balled his hands into fists and bit the tip of his tongue to refrain from an annoyed shout. He wanted revenge, damn it!

“You are still doubting me?!” came a shrill voice from the group on the far side of the room; it cut through Kirk’s reverie and elicited a hard, shark like smile from the Captain of the Enterprise.

‘Jackpot.’

He slowly walked closer, grasping his phaser with one hand, while pricking up his ears in order to understand the answer.

“Wa’ak... we... we simply do not like the thought of... well... _killing_ them all. Is there no other possible way? Their planet would be much more useful if we could harness its resources instead of blowing it to bits...”

“First we’d have to get past those Mektorian fools! The Gods have spoken to me. _Me_! Your _leader_! They aren’t happy with us at the moment. They want sacrifices! And we are going to give them what they want. Or do you want to anger them? Is that it?”

Wa’ak was standing in front of the group. There were approximately ten men standing in a rough semi circle. Wa’ak was the only one who had a bodyguard standing next to him; if the heavily armed guy was any indication. All the other men seemed to be unarmed; at least they were wearing long robes that they would first have to hike up, if they had any weapons strapped to their bodies.

Kirk was slowly making his way inside the circle, while intently listening to the conversation.

‘Seems like the Prechtans aren’t as eager for the destruction of Mektor as Wa’ak. What is up with this guy?’ he thought.

 

“Cat got your tongue, little Vulcan?” the Andorian sneered and slowly got closer to the kneeling man. Spock could just look at him. His large, liquid eyes fixed on the gun that was pointing straight at his chest. His brilliant mind racing with all kinds of thoughts. He had been in stress situations before; but never had the mere presence of an enemy alien caused this much terror in him.

Spock was virtually unable to stem the tide and compartmentalize it just as usual. The jumble of nerves screaming at him in phantom pain was rendering him embarrassingly helpless in face of the slowly approaching Andorian.

The wider the smug smile on the blue tinged face got, the more... violent the thoughts inside the Vulcan were. For a creature who valued every life dearly, it was very disorienting to suddenly be assaulted with the primal thoughts of ‘maim, kill, hurt, make him suffer, make him writhe’!

His exquisitely carved lips fell open in a silent agonized moan, while he desperately clutched onto every last shred of sanity he possessed. He would not give in. He would not loose all of Surak’s teachings yet again, like he had that night in sickbay. Spock was strong. He would not give in.

“You aren’t saying anything, my little whore. No fight left in you? I’ll make that impassive Vulcan face of yours writhe in agony. I’ll teach you, hm? And maybe this time I’ll cut your hands off instead of just smashing them to pieces.”

Spock’s sight was rapidly clouding with a green haze upon the realization _whom_ of his tormentors he was facing just now.

 

“We could fly out and conquer other planets. The destruction of Mektor would influence us too. They’re too close and we _need_ their gravitational pull. Who knows what could happen if another whole planet suddenly doesn’t exist anymore? Even if we survive the blast, we could be drawn into one of the two suns,” one of the men said desperately just now.

Kirk slowly turned around in their midst, watching intently faces and blue glowing tattoos. Only Wa’ak was glowing in a bright, angry looking magenta and rapidly closing his fists over and over again.

“You dare to defy the will of the Gods? You _dare_ to – “

In that moment everything happened quite quickly. Wa’ak was cutting himself off, mid-sentence. His eyes got as large as grapefruits, while he was staring – directly at Kirk. The Captain stood a few seconds motionless until he registered over the whoosh in his ears that the humming of the cloaking device suddenly was... silent. Silent as in ‘not there anymore’. Silent as in ‘he was standing in the middle of an alien group... visible’.

Wa’ak was the first to recover from the pure shock of suddenly being confronted with a man he thought to be miles away on a starship.

“Fire!! _Fire, you fool!_ ” he shrieked at the goggling guard who sprang into action the same moment Kirk lunged himself at Wa’ak, his phaser at the ready.

Kirk could hear the humming of a weapon being fired, but didn’t feel anything, so he was quite sure that he had evaded the white hot laser beam. He was seizing Wa’ak’s shoulders and turning around in a swift motion, until his chest was pressed up to the back of the tall man.

Like the Mektorians, the Prechtans were on average nearly two heads taller than Kirk himself. However, a phaser jabbed right under Wa’ak’s jaw line made the height difference a moot point.

“No one moves! You are standing before James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise and... and...”

Damn. Where was his air? Why was he so breathless? Dark spots were slowly appearing in front of his eyes and he had to blink a few times.

‘What is... ahh...’ he thought blearily. Slowly he became aware of a moist pulsating sensation in his side. Sluggishly Kirk turned his head a little and looked down at his right side. Upon seeing the rapidly spreading, dark spot on his shirt, Kirk realized that the guard obviously hadn’t missed his target after all.

The realization that he had been hit, didn’t help either; suddenly his body was flooded with the agony he should’ve felt earlier and he was starting to clutch Wa’ak for support instead of restraining him.

‘Spock...’

 

The Vulcan jerked so violently that the Andorian guard raised his gun in surprise and took a step backwards, watching Spock warily.

The eyes of the Vulcan were big and stunned. It had been as if someone had shouted his name right into his ear.

‘JIM!’

Suddenly every thought of revenge and fear and pain fled his being. Calmness spread through his body, while he raised his hand towards the cloaking device on his chest and pressed the button without further ado.

“What the – “ the Andorian hissed, bringing his gun down and shooting at the spot the Vulcan had just been kneeling in.

Spock, however, had already rolled away and was springing catlike to his feet, sprinting past the bewildered Andorian without sparing him a second glance.

‘Jim... what has happened? Where are you?’ Spock thought fiercely, coming to a skidding halt outside the hallway of the holding cells in order to orient himself.

As if listening to something on a badly tuned radio, sluggish thoughts entered his mind, ‘Wa’ak... nngh...’

Spock was sprinting in the direction of the door Kirk had indicated earlier even before he was really cognizant of his legs moving.

While running he forcibly opened the communicator he was still clutching in his right hand.

“Mr. Scott!”

“Aye, sir.”

“Get security personnel and beam them down upon my signal. Quick!” he was positively screaming by that point, not heeding if anyone was nearby and hearing his voice out of seemingly thin air.

He closed the communicator even before he heard the affirmative from the Chief Engineer. In his head Spock was already calculating how long it would take the man to crowd the needed crewmen into the transporter room.

Spock nearly collided with the double doors leading into the huge chapel in his quest to get to his Captain. It was like a string had been attached to his navel and he was being pulled relentlessly into the direction Kirk needed him.

It was a strange sight that greeted him. Eleven men were standing in a baffled semi circle, while Kirk was standing directly behind Wa’ak and pressing his phaser to the neck of the gaping man. The Captain was, however, positively hanging onto the broad shoulders of the other man. It was clear that he was nearly unconscious.

Spock’s stomach clenched painfully upon seeing a slow trickle of blood make its way out of the corner of Kirk’s mouth.

Spock could not quite see what was wrong with the human, but looking down he could make out dark spots beneath Kirk’s feet.

Wa’ak also seemed to realize the trouble Kirk was having; he made to turn around and dislodge the injured Captain, so Spock acted immediately.

He flipped his communicator open and shouted, “Now, Mr. Scott!” while simultaneously cancelling the cloaking device.

The sudden new voice caused all men in the room to whirl around and gape at him in dumbfounded disbelief – even Wa’ak had aborted his turn and stared at the Vulcan with eyes that seemed to be in danger of popping out of their sockets.

Spock’s stomach seemed to be plummeting into the ground as he watched Kirk’s eyes roll up into his skull. There had to be some kind of time distortion, for the Captain of the Enterprise was slipping in slow motion onto the floor, while all around the Vulcan the blinding light and with it the security personnel of the Enterprise appeared.

They were trained perfectly – while the security swarmed out in order to capture the alarmed men and wrestle down the only armed guard, Spock made his way towards the body that lay prone upon the floor.

A pool of viscous, red blood was slowly spreading around Kirk. Spock fell to his knees and pressed the tips of his trembling fingers against the Captain’s skin just under his jaw.

He felt no heartbeat.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read with caution; mention of cannibalism

Spock slowly let his hand fall away from the cooling skin of the human. The blank expression on his face couldn’t hide the pure torment in his large, dark eyes. No thoughts at all were racing through his head in this precious, few seconds; a very rare occurrence indeed for a Vulcan.

Only when he slumped forwards and pressed his hands to the floor, did he jerk out of the stupor that had beset him.

His fingers were slipping in the hot, liquid blood still oozing out of the wound in Kirk’s side. Spock brought his hands up and studied the red, thick smearing on palms and fingers of those alien hands of his. It looked so... wrong on his creamy, olive skin. Totally and utterly wrong.

A burbling, liquid breath from Kirk drew his attention back to the prone figure. His sensitive ears pricked up as he listened intently for another of the laboured breaths. However, none were forthcoming.

Spock’s eyebrows drew slightly together and the dark pink lips narrowed minutely in a way that expressed intense concentration and determination for the Vulcan. He bowed down low, bracing himself with one hand next to Kirk’s shoulder – slipping again in the human blood in the process – and carefully placing the smeared fingers of his other hand on the melding points of Kirk’s face.

The Vulcan heart was racing in his side at an unfathomable speed, while his logical brain bombarded him with the fact that he hadn’t melded minds with anyone since his abduction by the Andorians; that his hands weren’t really his; that his nerves weren’t even remotely what they had been prior to the attack; that he was, in fact, no Vulcan and could not possibly hope to establish a mind meld that would help Kirk in any way...

‘I’ki sa-kai,’ the Vulcan thought stubbornly, closed his eyes in midst of the chaos surrounding him and concentrated fiercely on establishing a connection with this creature he valued above all others...

 

‘Weird way to die... On a floor of some crazy planet, because some random guard got a shot at me,’ Kirk thought dazedly. If he was honest – and Kirk was a most honest man; it got him in trouble more times than not – he was quite annoyed with this fact. He was James Tiberius Kirk, after all! Captain of the USS Enterprise. Captain, for God’s sake!

‘I’ki sa-kai.’

Kirk would’ve flinched, if he had had any body to speak of in this strange... limbo he was currently floating in. Where had that thought come from? He was not entirely sure. He had the feeling he had heard it somewhere before.

Flashes of a narrow, uncomfortable couch; an amber liquid in a golden hand; strips of pale skin peaking out beneath some kind of dark robe.

Kirk felt heavy... so heavy. And sleepy.

‘I have survived so much... Had I only known that death was so... peaceful, I’d have died on Tarsus IV all along. Who would’ve thought?’ he thought blearily, while he acquiesced to his bodies needs and slowly drifted further down the rabbit hole.

‘No. You are weary, but you can’t give up just yet.’ It was like the new thought was fighting to reach the surface of a vast, dark ocean. He tried to swat it, like he would swat an annoying fly, but found that he just couldn’t. The stray thought repeated itself over and over again. Dimly Kirk realised that the thought seemed rather out of place; that it wasn’t his own voice saying it, but rather a much darker one.

‘I’ki sa-kai,’ the dark voice positively purred. It seemed to vibrate in his whole being and Kirk had to gasp slightly upon feeling the gentle vibrations slowly make their way through his body.

His body!... Yes, there it was. He had almost forgotten how it felt. To have a body. And by God, it _ached_.

The purring ... or vibrations... or whatever it was, wandered through his veins, along his muscles, inside his bones. It was most disconcerting for the human. Never before had he been so... _aware_ of the inner workings of his body.

He felt the gentle tug of the other presence as it wandered almost at a leisurely pace through his very being and only left warmth and a tingling in its place that he yearned to scratch.

‘I’ki sa-kai...’

There it was again. Kirk slowly balled his hands into powerless fists. He had the feeling something wet and slippery was beneath them.

‘What? What does it mean?’ he thought almost desperately and caught himself yearning for the peacefulness a few moments prior. The dark voice was firm, but gentle as it answered, ‘Don’t go back there. It would not suit you. Your very being is life and energy. Death is not becoming for you.’

The corners of Kirk’s mouth twitched in amusement and he followed the presence in his body with wonderment as it gently surrounded his erratically beating heart and prodded it, until it reluctantly started beating faster.

‘Who are you?’ he insisted with sluggish thoughts. He was startled to realize how little air he had left and took a huge, gasping breath that left him coughing; some strange liquid was lodged in his throat.

The being inside him hesitated a moment. He could _feel_ the hesitation.

Then, ‘Your I’ki sa-kai, Jim.’

Huh... He knew this voice. He knew it so well! But... It eluded him. It eluded him just... so. It was so annoying!

“What does it mean?!” he wanted to shout, but it only came out as a gurgling, garbled rasp. He could feel something on his cheek as the other one answered; it had to be hot breath, for the little hair around his ears tickled in the breeze.

“Soulbrother. Brother of my soul.”

Kirk moaned slightly, suddenly aware of the burning agony in his side; of the slippery coldness beneath him; of the noise surrounding him – shouts. So many shouts...!

“Sp...ock. I don’t want to die,” he positively sobbed in a rare display of weakness. Everything in his mind was rotating and the more he tried to grasp it, the more it danced just out of his reach.

The dark, velvet voice answered, “You won’t, Jim. I got you. Doctor McCoy will be here shortly.”

The words were perfectly clear and yet they made no sense at all. Who was talking? Who was Jim? Who was Doctor McCoy? Where was ‘here’?

Captain Kirk drifted back into unconsciousness; the last he felt was hot breath on his cheek.

 

The most peculiar things happened. Kirk was not sure where he was... or even _when_ he was. He had no reference of time in this strange place. He felt like he was floating on a cloud or in some kind of huge body of water.

Sometimes he had the feeling that he was opening his eyes and blearily gaze into stark whiteness. Sometimes on these occasions dark blurs were hovering above him and he could hear garbled, slurred sounds. Sometimes he thought he was being prodded, but he never was entirely sure.

Other times he opened his eyes to alarmingly clear scenes.

Scenes in which he was hovering above a vast field of golden corn; following two boys that were running through it, chasing one another; seemingly floating around a couple of older people that he only recognized with a huge effort as his parents.

They were looking satisfied and beautiful – standing on the porch of their farmhouse in Iowa. Just like they had done every time his Dad was on shore leave.

He felt so peaceful during these periods. He didn’t want to leave them – ever. The peace and hope emanating from these memories was so... tranquil. Kirk couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy. So content. So... loved.

And then there were these other... pictures.

Pictures in which he was hovering above a little boy that was cowering in some dark alley, fearing for his life, while armed guards were patrolling on the streets of Tarsus IV.

Impassively Kirk watched as the boy grabbed a rat, broke it’s neck with his bare, dirty hands and ate it like a ravenous, stray dog would.

He was aware of all the feelings creeping up on him just outside his peripheral vision. He twisted and turned like a slippery worm, desperate to escape their onslaught. And yet... Kirk knew that they would get him. That they would crawl under his skin like thin, skeletal fingers and rip him open; flaying him until he screamed.

He would sob in renewed shame and pain, watching the boy – himself – as he stared with blank hazel eyes, riddled with insanity and hunger, upon another human being; waiting for her to stutter her last breath so the starved little creature could befall her and tear her to shreds with his teeth; screaming all the while out of hunger and agony and pity for the dead woman; and horror... the horror he felt of himself. The sheer disgust he was bearing upon his soul even years later as the Captain of a Starship...

And Kirk would flay around; screaming and kicking and sobbing, until hard, insistent hands were pressing him back onto his bed and a deep, soothing voice in his head purred, “I’ki sa-kai, Jim.”

And the burning pain in his side and the fever in his head would recede and leave him peaceful once more.

As he had said: The most peculiar things.

 

Seldom had McCoy been more glad to be out of the loop of all the command decisions on the Enterprise. He didn’t envy Spock one bit in the days following Lieutenant Uhura’s rescue from the Prechtans.

The Vulcan was completely immersed in work; keeping Captain Grigori from his back – damn he would’ve loved to hear _those_ two debate – and trying to establish some kind of treaty between Mektor and Prechta until the Federation shipped the needed personnel over towards them.

And speaking of the Federation... they weren’t happy with Jim at the moment. Not happy at all... He had – as he so often did – defied direct orders and several of his crewmembers had been seriously injured. However, they could not deny that he – once again – had somehow managed to diffuse the situation before it would bite them in the ass.

“You idiot,” McCoy said with gruff affection, gazing blearily down upon the sleeping man. Jim had been three days out of it now. When the Doctor had arrived on Prechta, Kirk had been _so_ close to bleed to death – quite frankly McCoy did not know, why that bloody stubborn heart of his had still been beating. The Doctor strongly suspected Spock to be responsible for that one, but the damn Vulcan didn’t say one bloody word.

McCoy was totally exhausted; the days spent on Mektor had been terrible. He and the yeomen he had brought with him had been working until they were near the breaking point; and just as there was a silver lining on the horizon, Lieutenant Sulu had contacted him rather desperately and ordered him to immediately beam back to the Enterprise, where he was after a few terse words – and a medi-kit shoved in his arms – beamed _back down_ to this other planet directly into a room where hell had broken loose.

Spock had been kneeling beside Kirk and had been looking so... lost that McCoy had feared the worst. When that damn hobgoblin was showing emotions, Kirk had to be in dire peril.

So they had miraculously stabilized the dying man and brought him somehow into sickbay – McCoy still wasn’t sure about that one – and they had worked relentlessly on merging the torn tissue and closing the huge gap in the Captain’s side and trying to keep him sedated so that he was able to regenerate.

The Captain, however, had had other plans, it seemed – like he so often did. McCoy slumped slightly in the chair he had brought up to Jim’s bedside and closed his eyes wearily. Never before had he heard Jim sob like that. No – scratch that. He had never heard Jim sob before – period. The Captain had been delirious from some fierce fever that had taken him over and his sleep had been riddled with nightmares it seemed.

McCoy’s gut clenched painfully upon hearing this charismatic man’s phantom screams.

‘By God, Jim. What’s eating you up?’ he thought blearily, while rubbing both hands across his craggy face. Jim had been nearly shouting his head off, flailing around or curling together in a foetal position and clutching the bedspread.

McCoy had been at his wit’s end, just as M’Benga. That was, until Christine hadn’t been able to stand it anymore and had called for the First Officer. It had been on the tip of his tongue to call her all kinds of a fool; Spock would never leave his position as acting Captain, when there was so much trouble about – and really; what would _he_ be able to do?

But not even five minutes later the Vulcan strode into Jim’s sickbay room like he owned the place and the gaze of those freakishly intense, dark eyes had been fixed instantly at the raving man on the bed.

McCoy tiredly gazed up at the ceiling, while thinking wondrously about the way Spock had strode towards Jim and pressed him back onto the mattress. The Vulcan had just... gazed at him. Intently. In that damn, stubborn, intelligent way of his. And Jim? The bastard just cut off his bloody screaming and went back to sleep like a baby.

‘I’m the Doctor here. Look like a damn fool right now, don’t I?’ he thought bitchily, but had to concede that he was secretly quite pleased that the Captain seemed to have finally found his peace.

‘But what’s with the two anyway?’ McCoy thought, while struggling out of his sitting position. He rubbed tiredly over his stubbly chin and lurched out of the room. He’d just pay Uhura a little visit and then he’d stumble into his bed to some much needed rest...

The dark skinned woman laid the PADD down into her lap, as he entered and threw him a dazzling smile. She still was a little pale under the beautiful chocolate skin, but all her bones had been mended and she would be allowed to leave sickbay tomorrow.

Her dark eyebrows drew together slightly and her smile vanished somewhat, as she took in McCoy’s bedraggled appearance.

“Doctor! You look like death warmed over,” she exclaimed. McCoy grinned wryly and shook his head.

“And here I thought you were always so sweet,” he groaned and eyed her mischievously. Her dark eyes glittered amused and she inclined her head towards him.

He sighed and took one step closer.

“How are you, Lieutenant?”

“Much better, Doctor. Thank you. I’m eager to return to my post tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but don’t overdo it, okay?”

She smiled slightly and tilted her head to one side.

“Of course, Doctor. I’ll be a good girl,” she trilled, but the humour quickly vanished from her features and she looked down upon her lap.

“How is the Captain? I’ve... heard him scream, you know,” she said slowly, her voice thick with sorrow. McCoy closed his eyes and perched himself on the edge of the biobed next to Uhura’s feet. He carefully folded his hands together and cleared his throat in order to get more time to think.

When he finally answered, the Southern accent in his Georgian voice was subdued, “He’ll be awake soon and probably out of here by tomorrow evening. Depends on how long I can keep him in his bed.”

He didn’t look at Uhura, for he knew that she would have a very critical look in her eyes. McCoy could be a gruff and often temperamental man, but the women on the Enterprise usually were very formidable opponents and he had learned early on not to get in their way.

Uhura obviously had noticed that he hadn’t really answered her question and she slid up in her bed in order to sit straight.

“Doctor...” she began, but McCoy shook his head and got up from the sickbed – he shouldn’t be sitting there anyway; he was the professional, after all.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I have said more than is advisable already. Everything else falls under doctor-patient confidentiality,” he said, while carefully tugging at her blanket and setting it to rights. Uhura didn’t look pleased at all, but she grudgingly let it go; she would not pry into the Captain’s personal business; especially after that night a few days ago, where Uhura had been captured because her head was full of all the terrible things the man had told about his time on Tarsus IV.

She saw the boisterous Captain in a much different light.

McCoy regarded her with a solemn expression. He saw the same, slightly bewildered look enter her face that he had worn, without a doubt, just a few moments prior. He had the feeling that Uhura, too, felt slightly alienated by the uncommon weakness from their Captain.

“Good night, Lieutenant,” McCoy said with a dark, sad voice.

Uhura answered pleasantly, but distracted all the same, “Good night, Doctor.”

 

Spock had been quite adamant in insisting that McCoy call him upon the Captain’s awakening, so the Doctor was experiencing an unholy glee in calling for the First Officer in the middle of Alpha shift at 1100 – he knew that Spock would hate to leave his post.

Nevertheless, it was a pity that the Vulcan didn’t show any emotion at all upon entering the sickbay room. McCoy just threw him an annoyed look, before leaning over Kirk and intently gazing down upon his patient, while checking his pulse and other vital signs. He only looked up when Spock’s dark voice said from the direction of the door, “I will never understand your mistrust of all the technical achievements, Doctor. It does not surprise me, that your usual behaviour is little more pleasant than one would expect from a raging cat, if you insist on conducting this mundane tasks yourself, when you could just look at the panel over your head.”

McCoy’s hackles started to rise and he wanted to hiss something along the lines of ‘I didn’t hear you complain about it, when I flicked your sorry arse back together!’, but the words stuck in his throat, when he laid eyes upon Spock.

It wasn’t that there was any emotion in the austere features of the alien or that the gaze with which he fixed the Captain said anything. Rather it was the mere sight of Spock that brought with it all the horrors he had had to mend on the slender body that caused him to bite back his words.

He didn’t want to remember that gruesome time he had to mend tissue in a place he never wanted to see or touch again; and he didn’t want to remind Spock of it. No matter how heated their arguments got sometimes; there were lines one just did not cross.

So McCoy just shrugged lamely with his shoulders and took one step back, gesturing towards the prone figure in invitation.

“He’s still pretty groggy from all the medication,” he said, but shut his mouth with an audible click upon witnessing Spock striding almost eagerly forward to the sickbed and leaning over Kirk, who was currently fighting to keep his eyes from closing.

“Who ‘s there?” Kirk murmured sluggishly, while trying with all his might to keep awake. He felt dizzy and disoriented and like he was just about to be sick.

“Doctor McCoy and myself, Captain. I’m gratified to see you awake once again,” a deep baritone answered, that immediately kick-started something in Kirk’s brain.

McCoy watched in wonder as a dazzling smile spread itself lazily on Kirk’s face in answer to the mundane words Spock had spoken. He crossed his arms in front of his chest while observing the interaction between the two. His brow was furrowed in contemplation.

It seemed to be a huge effort for the Captain to raise his arms; his hands were clumsily grasping the First Officer, until his fingers found purchase in the blue fabric of his uniform shirt.

McCoy’s eyebrows slowly climbed up towards his hairline, while simultaneously a chill was slithering down his spine. He felt like he was watching something very important... Like a train wreck about to happen; only that this train wreck really, _really_ should’ve been something beautiful instead.

Kirk had his fingers in Spock’s shirt and Spock’s whole body tensed slightly for a few seconds, before the Vulcan visibly reigned his reactions in and relaxed once more.

Kirk’s next words were crawling kind of fuzzily into McCoy’s ears; like the Doctor had cotton in his auditory canals.

“Spock! ‘S good of you t’ be here. Missed you. Think I dreamt of you or som’thing.” Kirk still grinned at the Vulcan like a little kid, while his clumsy hands let go of the Vulcan’s shirt and crept higher up. Spock was visibly taken aback by the strangely affectionate way of his Captain paired with being touched so casually.

Nonetheless, the Vulcan said levelly, “How do you feel, Captain? Does anything hurt?”

Kirk laughed slightly, while one hand gripped the collar of Spock’s shirt for purchase and the other hand cupped one lean cheek.

McCoy wanted to interfere at this point; the Vulcan visibly flinched upon the skin to skin contact and the Doctor was not at all sure which emotions Kirk was currently transmitting in his dizzy state. His feet, however, didn’t want to budge.

Kirk answered, but not to the questions asked. “Spock! You can talk! Not that slurry speech, min’ you. You’ve such a nnnnice voice, y’ know?”

The Captain got a really intent expression – like he was confronted with a most taxing mathematical equation – as he carefully loosened his grip on the collar and brought his hand to the other cheek.

Spock’s usual velvet baritone was a little scratchy as he answered, “Thank you, sir. I’ve had plenty of practice the last 4.23 days.”

He raised his hands and took hold of Kirk’s wrists; gently trying to dislodge the hands that were cradling his face. Kirk, however, clearly had something else in mind. His face took on such a melancholy, yearning expression that it nearly ripped McCoy’s heart out of his chest.

The Doctor felt dirty, like an intruder, upon witnessing the way Kirk poured his heart out towards the increasingly alarmed looking Vulcan.

“You saved me, Spock. Don’t know how. You saved me from m’self. Spock...” he slurred and strengthened his grip upon Spock’s person. McCoy knew that the First Officer was more than strong enough to pry the hands of one groggy, dizzy human from his person; but it was also painfully obvious that the tall man didn’t want to hurt the Captain – despite his own distress upon being subjected to such blatant emotionalism.

Kirk relentlessly pulled the slightly struggling man down towards him and McCoy’s insides clenched spasmodically. He cleared his throat and wanted to say something – maybe distract Jim long enough that Spock could unwind from the Captain’s grasp and retreat, but Jim didn’t even bat an eyelash in his direction.

The fuzzy hazel eyes were fixed intently on the chocolate brown ones in front of him.

“I’ki sa-kai...?” he mumbled, before raising himself up in order to meet the Vulcan and fit his mouth with astonishing precision to the darker set of delicately sculpted lips.

McCoy took a startled step backwards and distantly thought his eyes were probably about to pop out of his skull, while he watched the Captain kissing his First Officer.

Spock was eerily frozen – leaning above Kirk, his hands gripping the wrists of the other man, the gaze of his large eyes fixed startled upon the face mere inches from him.

McCoy could pinpoint the second Spock’s brain finally kicked back in, for the Vulcan positively reeled back from Kirk. His already pale complexion was ghost-like and the fear and exasperation creeping in his face made even the Doctor wince slightly.

“Spock...” McCoy finally found his voice. It seemed thick and scratchy. The Vulcan jumped slightly and turned around swiftly. The wounded look he was throwing McCoy made the Doctor feel like the worst person on the planet. He opened his mouth, wanted to explain, but the First Officer turned around on his heels and stormed out of the room – without sparing another glance to the confused human on the bed.

Kirk just stared at the door. It was obvious that his dazed mind couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. He slumped back down onto the bed and stared for a couple of seconds at the ceiling, before slowly turning on his side and curling together once more.

He didn’t make a sound but the bleak desperation radiating from him in waves made it unnecessary. Coldness filled McCoy as he clumsily made his way towards the door.

‘What the hell just happened?’

 

Spock didn’t immediately return to the bridge; although this would have been prudent in these taxing days. He – no, he did not ‘flee’ – _walked_ at a very brisk speed into the next conference room, locking the door securely behind himself.

He was positively panting, while his Vulcan heart raced in his side. His twitching hands were spasmodically curling into loose fists, while his liquid brown eyes were staring unseeingly at the floor in front of him.

His insides were a jumbled mess. Spock was still able to feel all the intriguing and disgusting emotions radiating from Kirk. The sudden bombardment of Kirk, after so much time of emotional abstinence from the humans surrounding him, left him reeling.

There had been shame and pain and hurt and – he almost shied away from the thought – lust. Lust for him. Lust from Jim. His best friend.

And... what Kirk had done with his lips.

‘A kiss. A human kiss,’ his usually brilliant Vulcan mind told him. He still felt the rough, cracked surface of Jim’s lips; the warmth radiating from them; the gentle pressure the other man had exerted.

Spock’s insides began to churn and he let his head fall back against the door, his eyes tightly closed and his lips drawn back over his teeth in a silent, anguished sob.

This kiss had felt ... pleasant. However, how could someone like Jim sully himself with... damaged goods like him? How could he enjoy something this blatantly physical after what had been done to him? Was he sick? Insane? How could he yearn for the contact and at the same time be utterly disgusted and terrified when only _thinking_ of the lust that the Captain had felt for him? It was – highly illogical.

Spock slowly slid down the door and put his face in his hands. All these emotions! He was not even sure anymore if they were entirely his or if they had mixed with the Captain’s. He seemed to be totally attuned to the mind of this golden creature. It was like his mind was eagerly lapping up every little morsel it could glean from Kirk.

The mere thought made Spock’s breath catch. He had spent years fighting for his freedom, for his life. The notion of being somehow... bonded to another creature – even if it was his I’ki sa-kai – made him panic.

‘No Vulcan, no human, no man,’ the phantom voices of the Andorians taunted him and Spock let go of a little, tight moan of agony.

All these conflicting emotions were just too much to handle for him. He could simply not fathom the sheer illogicality of them. But what to do? If he wanted to avoid this churning maelstrom inside him, he had to avoid the source of all this upheaval.

And this meant... avoiding the Captain. The Captain with his thousands of strange human emotions and the cracked, warm, tender human lips that had the curious notion of pressing themselves against his mouth.

Spock curled together more tightly, not aware, that Kirk was doing the same thing just down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsting like teenage girls^^ 
> 
> that... was not the first kiss any of you envisioned, I think XD


	16. Chapter 16

“I can’t wait to get back to the bridge. I want to leave orbit and these damned planets as soon as possible. This whole mission was a huge mess,” Kirk said; his voice sounded muffled due to him trying to wrestle his golden shirt above his head.

When he finally emerged, his light brown hair was in serious disarray and McCoy had to fight an indulgent, little grin – Jim looked like a little boy. However, McCoy would not be McCoy if he hadn’t perfected the art of looking grim and disapproving.

“I’d prefer it, if you kept in bed for one more day. You were snatched from the jaws of death, you know. If it hadn’t been for Spock...” McCoy trailed of. His stomach clenched painfully and he bit the tip of his tongue.

The scene from yesterday still sat heavily on his stomach. He shouldn’t have witnessed Kirk’s advance towards his First Officer – he was pretty sure that Jim had never _ever_ propositioned to a man – and he shouldn’t have witnessed Spock’s total freak-out – well, a freak-out for a Vulcan, that is – and he shouldn’t have witnessed the bleak desolation from these two men that somehow were always gravitating towards each other and yet repelled from one another every single time.

When McCoy had visited Jim a few hours later, his best friend had been much more lucid and fit; it had been hard to keep him in bed over night. Jim had also been quite... joyful and confident that they now would go over to better times after the rough patch they had in the past couple of weeks.

McCoy wondered...

“Yeah – Spock. I’m a little surprised that he hasn’t shown up and bugged me with ship’s business yet. He’s probably immersed in work up to the pointy tips of his Vulcan ears,” the Captain chuckled slightly, while bending down to tie his boots. McCoy felt a lump lodged in his throat and had to swallow around it. His next words were unusually tentative, “Jim. Spock... has been here. Don’t you remember?”

The Doctor only saw the broad back of the Captain from his position and intently watched its movements. The thick muscles stilled for a second, while Jim thought about his words, then started to move again; a little faster than before.

“Huh. He was here? You sure? Can’t remember. And I think I’d remember a tall, dark, brooding Vulcan, wouldn’t I?” the man joked, while standing up from his sickbed and walking over to the little sink in the corner of the room, where a tiny mirror was placed. He started to card his fingers through his unruly looks to tame them.

McCoy’s shoulders straightened slightly and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Jim. What _do_ you remember since your injury?” he asked with the clinical curiosity of a Doctor. The Captain stilled a second time; this time, however, McCoy was able to see the hazel eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

For a split second they got huge and vulnerable and the colour slightly drained out of the Captain’s face. Nonetheless, a second later he was his usual, boisterous self as he straightened and tugged on the hem of his shirt, in order to set it right.

“To be honest, I only remember jumbled bits and pieces... A few dreams.” He waved one negligent hand and shrugged casually with his broad shoulders. McCoy’s eyes narrowed all the more and he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“You don’t remember anything else? You sure?” he pressed further; he could not say how he felt about that one. Would it be better for Jim not to remember his advances towards Spock? Would it be better for the Vulcan if he could just pretend like nothing ever happened?

“... Nah. I don’t remember anything,” Jim said after a few moments contemplation.

“Anyway. I’ll have to go, if I want to be on time for Alpha shift. They’re going to freak out when they have their Captain back,” he said with a slightly too loud voice, clapping his hands together and rubbing them in glee. He sauntered with his usual swagger over towards the door; McCoy was, however, not surprised when he saw the man falter just outside the reach of the door’s sensors and his posture droop slightly.

“Bones...” Jim said after a few moments without turning around, curling his hands slowly into fists, “... is there something I should know?”

McCoy was used to deliver bad news as a Doctor. He regretted doing so, but he understood the need not to sugar coat the facts – although he would fight Spock tooth and nail over the subject. As a _friend_ , however, it was another matter altogether. What should he say? Just a couple of days ago he would’ve shrugged his shoulders and mercilessly teased Jim about his budding homosexual tendencies towards the Vulcan.

Just a couple of days ago, however, he hadn’t known the invisible weight this man was bearing on his shoulders. He hadn’t seen the convulsions of the strongly muscled body or heard the screams of absolute terror and fright. After witnessing this, McCoy was oddly hesitant to burden Jim yet more with the problem of having totally freaked out Spock.

McCoy was not proud of his answer to Jim’s insecure question, but as a human being he just couldn’t help it, “I... don’t know, Jim.”

A few seconds ticked away without either man saying anything; McCoy wasn’t even sure if they were breathing. He prayed for Jim to just let the subject go and walk out of sickbay; and at the same time he prayed for him to press the issue further, to force the Doctor to give him the needed information and take the burden from him.

The moment to ask further questions came and went and finally Jim straightened his posture and put on his confident Captain Kirk cloak once more.

“All right. Thanks, Bones. See you at lunch!” he said confidently and sauntered out of the room.

McCoy just stood there and stared contemplating at the now closed door. He prayed to every entity known and unknown that he had done the right thing in sparing Jim the news – for now. But when dealing with the stubborn Captain and the illogically logical Vulcan, one could never be sure.

 

“Good morning, everyone! How is everybody doing?” Kirk positively yelled upon stepping on the bridge. His handsome face was bright with the joy of finally being back where he belonged and letting an ugly episode of his career as Captain of the Enterprise behind.

Heads swivelled around and faces lit up upon seeing the Captain. Kirk winked towards Chekov and Sulu, while strolling over towards Uhura and slightly bending down to her. The grin on his face took on a slightly strained quality, as he asked sotto voce, “How are you, Lieutenant?”

She smiled at him and took the communication device in her ear out in order to answer him, “I’m fine, Captain. Thank you. How about you?”

A strange light entered her eyes, which Kirk could not place. He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back.

“I’m fine,” he insisted with a loud voice that was meant to carry across the whole bridge. He looked around but his hazel eyes quite quickly fixed upon the man that stood right next to the Captain’s chair, which he had vacated as soon as Kirk had stepped onto the bridge: Spock.

The Vulcan’s posture was rigid and seemed tense. Although his hands were clasped behind his back in his usual position, Kirk felt his gut tighten minutely; Spock wasn’t looking at him. Rather the First Officer was stubbornly gazing straight on.

The dread he had felt earlier when leaving sickbay returned with a vengeance; he swallowed convulsively and slowly made his way towards the middle of the bridge. He just imagined the hard line in Spock’s shoulders or the grim set of the delicately curved lips. He just imagined it... yeah. Because, really, there was no cause for the Vulcan to be upset with him in any way. Or was there? Kirk wrecked his brain. The last he definitely remembered was... ah well. Leaving Spock with Uhura in that cell in order to confront Wa’ak.

‘He wouldn’t hold a grudge now, would he?’ he thought, while stepping in front of his First Officer. He felt inexplicably nervous. Like there was some undercurrent going on that he was not privy to. Kirk didn’t even notice how tentative the smile was that slightly tugged the corners of his mouth upwards; or how tremulous it seemed.

“Mr. Spock. Good day to you, too. I trust you handled the Enterprise with the utmost care?” the Captain said at last, while searching the austere face of the other man.

Spock slightly inclined his head towards his Captain, but it was obvious for the other man that the soulful, dark eyes didn’t quite meet him; rather they were fixed upon something right over his left shoulder.

“Good morning, Captain. Indeed I did. Nevertheless, a few matters came up during your convalescence that you need to look into. First and foremost the Potemkin has reached us 4.78 days prior and Captain Grigori was not pleased to hear that we... took matters in our own hands. He has informed Starfleet, but he also assured me that he would be contacting you as soon as you were able to. Furthermore Starfleet has expressed their displeasure with our course of action, but have indicated that they are willing to turn a blind eye – as is the human saying, I believe – for the success of our unorthodox approach is clearly visible. We are to wait until further instructions are forthcoming, which will be – as Lieutenant Uhura will confirm to you – in about 48.7 hours. If you are feeling well enough, I will be returning towards my own station, Captain – upon your permission, that is.”

Spock spoke without any inflection in his baritone voice. His posture didn’t budge one bit and his eyes were still glued upon something over Kirk’s shoulder. The tight feeling in Kirk’s gut developed into a painful churning and dread was slithering down his spine like a slippery worm.

“Very well, Mr. Spock,” he finally choked out. His hazel eyes were trying to catch the eye of his First Officer, but the Vulcan was stubborn. The tentative understanding of the minute details in Spock’s expression seemed to have vanished in the past days. Not even a slight twitch of the slanted, silky eyebrows gave Kirk a clue as to what he had done wrong.

The men stood in front of each other, backs straight and eyes going harder by the second, as they both didn’t want to back down. Male pride had them standing and – somewhat – staring at each other until the muted beeping of all the machines around them intruded in the little bubble they had crafted around themselves. Kirk let his breath rush out in a sudden, harsh exhalation and he raised his chin defiantly, cursing the fact that Spock was a few inches taller than he. It was much more easy to be authoritative if one was bigger than his or her counterpart.

“You may return to your station now, Mr. Spock. You have performed your duties satisfactorily,” he said at last and rejoiced a little, when he saw the corner of Spock’s mouth tighten slightly. This expression Kirk knew well enough: the Vulcan was annoyed upon his work being called just ‘satisfactorily’. It had been a petty jibe, but Kirk didn’t feel very Captain- like at the moment. Not, when he came ‘back from the dead’ and his friend was treating him like some lower Ensign.

“Thank you, Captain,” the Vulcan answered tersely and turned around on his heels in order to stalk towards the Science Station. Kirk got a good look at Spock’s hands. They were shaking like leaves in the wind, the long, graceful fingers twitching spasmodically.

The Captain slowly closed his eyes, feeling like the worst person. Spock obviously was quite distressed. He didn’t know as to ‘why’ in the least, but... hell, they were buddies, weren’t they? Best buddies, even. They shouldn’t be griping at each other like little school girls with a crush.

‘A crush...huh.’

He thought of their talk just before all hell had broken loose.

How he had been looking for comfort in the presence of the gentle being after his distressing talk with his crew. The highly philosophical questions they had debated. The strange question Spock had asked in the end.

‘What had that been? I’kai... or something? Huh...’ Kirk thought, while staring intently at Spock’s back. Something seemed to resonate in him when thinking about the strange words Spock had used. There was something ‘in the bush’, so to say. Something that danced and wriggled just outside of Kirk’s vision, which made him nervous and upset. He didn’t like not to know what was going on. Kirk swallowed his pride down in order to ask a little more gentle, “Mr. Spock. Do you want to play chess tonight in order to... discuss all the happenings of the past days?”

It was a peace offering. He had stepped closer to the outer ring of the bridge, his forearms resting on the railing and gazing up to the other man. Spock’s back straightened slightly and he seemed to be frozen for a few seconds.

When the dark, velvet voice finally came, it was neutral and smooth, “I’m sorry Captain, but I have many experiments to conduct that I haven’t had the time for in the past 2.89 weeks. However, if you want to discuss ship’s business, I will naturally oblige to meeting you in one of the conference rooms.”

He had turned around while talking, but was looking straight ahead again; way over Kirk’s head. The Captain knew a rejection when he heard one and felt a cold tingle running through his being. He cleared his throat a few times.

“Ah... no, that won’t be necessary. It is not urgent at the moment. I will approach you... another time.”

With that he turned swiftly around and strode towards his chair, eager to launch in his work in order to get his mind of the utter desolation that wanted to creep up on him.

 

Later that night, when the ship slowly went to sleep – except for the night shift, that is – Kirk was standing alone in the gym and punching out all his frustration and anger that had accumulated over the day.

Bones would bite his head off, if he knew that he was blatantly ignoring the Doctor’s orders to ‘keep his head down and relax’, but Kirk felt like he was about to explode if he didn’t vent his feelings a little.

His hands were tightly surrounded with broad, white strips of cloth that would prevent his knuckles from being chafed – which, in turn would prevent Bones from noticing his trespassing – and he had foregone the gym robe that he usually wore in order to be as unrestricted as possible.

His eyebrows were furrowed and sweat was dripping down along his hairline, while he was swinging at the punching bag in a manner that didn’t even resemble any fighting style anymore.

It was just blatant, furious punching. His teeth were bared and he was almost to the point of snarling, while he hurled one punch over the other at the heavy, red bag, imagining Captain Grigori’s face on the cloth.

After Spock’s cold-hearted rejection the Captain of the Potemkin had called and refused to take the discussion into his private quarters in order to lecture him like an errant schoolboy in front of the whole Alpha shift crew.

“You damn – “ he gritted out, punching heavily at the bag, “ – old – “ another punch with the other fist; he could feel the sweat trickling down along his spine. It tickled and scratched and didn’t help to alleviate his mood, “ – dog!” he screamed, bringing his hands together, over his head and swiftly bringing them down upon the imaginary head of the older Captain. Kirk was gasping for breath but refused to calm down. He embraced the punching bag with both arms, bringing his right knee in succession up into the opponent, while banging his forehead in frustration against it.

The whole day had been an utter disaster. Grigori’s chewing out hadn’t been the end of it. As soon as the other Captain had cut the connection with an unholy glee in his craggy, old face, Uhura had timidly piped up in order to tell Kirk that there were several reports from Starfleet waiting for him in his quarters.

These reports had been... aggravating. To say the least. He got spanked left and right for rescuing one of his crewmembers and taking down a megalomaniac who threatened to destroy a whole planet – through the Enterprise. And this was how they were thanking him?

A new surge of anger swept through him and he broke the weak embrace in order to start a new round of fierce punching.

Normally he would just shrug it all off and laugh in the faces of these fools. They were all just desk jockeys without any inkling as to how the reality in Space looked like. They couldn’t scratch the ego of Captain James T. Kirk. They were under his radar. Normally.

 _Normally_ he would shove all these reports over to his First Officer while playing chess with him and listen to the Vulcan tear the reports apart with relish – okay. Very dry, Vulcan, underappreciated relish. But relish nonetheless.

And hell it always felt good to hear Spock say in so many complicated words that he was a great Captain and shouldn’t give a damn about what they were saying. Sometimes the Vulcan would bring on a little critique of himself; precise and to the point as always. And Kirk would even appreciate it – if he was in the mood to being lectured.

But that was just the crux of the matter: This wasn’t the _normal_ situation, for his friend and First Officer wasn’t talking to him. Hell, he got the feeling Spock was even _avoiding_ him. As soon as Alpha shift had ended, the Vulcan was up and gone, never looking once back and leaving Kirk in his Captain’s chair, fending for himself.

‘Why, why, why, why, _why_?’ the man thought desperate, with ever increasing swipes of his arms and fists. He felt a twinge in his shoulder as he rolled it the wrong way and ignored it totally.

He was no idiot. He was probably a little ignorant concerning the feelings and motivations of others – hell, he was a man, after all – but he was definitely no idiot. (Disregarding what Grigori was saying... that damned, old... ARGH).

Spock and he had been best friends right before their departure to Prechta. They had shared an evening full of meaningful talk – that left Kirk a little embarrassed, now that he thought of it – and in the end there had been... something. Some kind of... spark between them.

Kirk faltered slightly in his frantic thrashing of the punching bag and went a few paces over to the bulkhead in order to slump panting against it. Once again he wrecked his brain for the term Spock had used. He had the feeling that he had heard it a hell of a lot in the last couple days.

‘I’ki... skai? No... I’kai sa-ki? I’ki... I... ki...’ he wrecked his brain for the answer, but his overheated head felt sluggish and slow. He let his head fall repeatedly back against the wall, his eyes tightly shut against the stinging of his sweat.

So. They had been in there. In Spock’s quarters. And there had been something between them. Something significant that – if Kirk was honest – had been looming a long time above them. But he couldn’t, for the life of him say, what that had been.

They still had been best friends when standing a few hours later in the teleporter room. And he was pretty sure that they had been friends when entering the hallway in which the cells for the prisoners had been.

So somewhere between Spock entering Uhura’s cell and him strolling onto the bridge that morning something had happened that must’ve caused the Vulcan to let him drop like a hot potato. Considering the fact that he had been unconscious for the whole time except perhaps one or two hours, made the whole situation all the more baffling to him. How could he have botched things up this badly?

He thought about his departure from Bones before the beginning of Alpha shift. The Doctor knew something. But what should’ve happened?

‘Aw man. Spock’ll come around. He isn’t one to hold a grudge,’ Kirk thought dejectedly, while slowly stepping away from the supporting bulkhead. Fire was creeping up his exhausted arms and was letting him know how utterly wrong this little session had been. He didn’t pay it any mind, for he was still contemplating the mystery that was his First Officer.

Part of him wanted to confront Bones and ask him what the hell happened. Part of him just wanted to back off and give Spock the space he obviously needed. Sometimes a guy just wanted to be left alone.

Kirk sighed and rubbed the towel he had brought with himself over his face, before making his way slowly and with aching bones towards the showers. He had no spring in his step like usual and wasn’t looking forward to the next few days in the slightest.

“And here I was, thinking everything would be just dandy now,” he mumbled with a grim expression on his flushed face.

 

Three days later the Enterprise got her new orders from Starfleet. They were to immediately abandon the solar system of Mektor and Prechta and go to a planet called Tchikon 5, where they were to pick up the ambassador and a few of the other high ranking officials and transport them to a conference on a planet near the earth’s solar system.

The whole crew of the Enterprise knew this mission for what it was: a punishment for their repeated offence in disregarding Starfleet’s orders. The mood on the ship was very strange indeed. Essentially they were elated to finally leave Mektor and Prechta and the whole damned episode behind them; however, it didn’t really feel like a victory. Because the Potemkin had been ordered to take over all negotiations between the two planets as well as the handling of all the prisoners, they didn’t have the kind of ‘closure’ they would’ve liked to feel.

The mission was pressing down on their moods and looming over their heads: open and unfinished. No one dared to talk about it – especially in presence of their Vulcan First Officer. He was as inscrutable as ever, but it had to be hard for the man, hadn’t it? After everything he had gone through to be sent away on a transport mission like a puppy who had peed on the floor. He was showing nothing, though. Not that anyone had really thought the Vulcan to be anything less than totally professional and in charge of his emotions.

Add to that the fact that they now had a few days of peace and quiet until they reached Tchikon 5 and they were nearly happy. Nearly. If their usually boisterous Captain wouldn’t wear a face like he had bitten into a lemon.

Really, everything was a little... strange on the Enterprise at the moment, but the crew was pretty confident that their commanding Officers would right all wrongs eventually. After all, they were the best team in Starfleet and above anything else, best friends. They’d just sail them through all the trouble like it was nothing. Heh.

 

One week had gone by since Spock’s sudden change of heart to avoid his Captain as much as possible. They had approximately five more days until they’d arrive at Tchikon 5 and normally Kirk would relish the time he had nearly for himself in every way possible. Confronted with the forced isolation from Spock, however, he was less than happy with his current situation.

He had repeatedly asked his First Officer to play chess and had been repeatedly rejected; so he didn’t try anymore. However, it didn’t help to be working with the guy who had been – right there with Bones – his best friend for the last couple of years. Suddenly he was painfully aware of every time his gaze strayed towards the Science Station. And it definitely didn’t help that he more often than not caught his gaze lingering on... parts of the anatomy of the other man that made him rather... flustered.

What the hell was happening with him? He had to think more times than he cared to admit in the past days about the little talk he had had with M’Benga. About the needs and problems of a rape victim; and of the apparently none existent problems for homosexuals.

“Homosexual...” Kirk tried the word a few times in the secure confines of his own quarters. He let it roll slowly off his tongue like a rare wine and then quickly shied away from it again. Every now and again he had phantom flashes of hotter-than-human lips against his; feeling unbelievably silky and firm at the same time. He could swear that it felt like the real thing. Like an actual memory of those dark pink lips that were part of Spock.

But that was just impossible.

He cursed his fucked up psyche for it. He just could not lust after another man! He was James Tomcat Kirk. Conqueror of women.

Nevertheless, he had to be honest with himself; it was not so much the notion of probably being homosexual; it was more the thought of lusting after his First Officer. His best friend, Vulcan First Officer who had been a _rape_ victim, for God’s sake. Spock would beat him to a bloody pulp if he made any advances towards him – if Spock were one for beating anyone or anything into a bloody pulp. No, he wouldn’t burden the gentle creature with that. Although Spock seemed to be faring pretty well, all things considered.

Then again Kirk hadn’t seen much of him in the past week and the First Officer was wearing his best Vulcan poker face while on the bridge, so... There was that.

Kirk was prowling his quarters like a caged lion, while contemplating for the umpteenth time the mystery that was Mr. Spock. He just couldn’t figure out what he had done to alienate the other man. He had been unconscious, for crying out loud! Even _he_ couldn’t botch things up while knocked out.

‘It can’t be helped,’ he finally surrendered, hanging his head low and fisting his hands in the golden locks on his head; which made them stand up in every direction.

He had to talk to Bones and get a clear picture. The Doctor obviously knew _something_ and Kirk could either continue to be stubborn and insist on his manly pride – and probably loose his best friend in the process – or swallow it all down like a good little boy and ask his only hope in salvaging this mess.

“Computer. Where is the CMO?” he asked into the empty space of his quarters and immediately got the impassive answer that the Doctor still was in sickbay. He sighed and strolled out of his room.

 

McCoy wasn’t surprised when Jim sauntered into his office, trying to look as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. The Doctor had been waiting – or dreading, he wasn’t that sure – for days for the Captain to finally cave in and come back in order to finish their conversation that was still somewhat hanging between them.

It had been painfully obvious that whatever had happened on that fateful day had not been resolved between the two; Spock wasn’t even appearing in the mess anymore and the dejection that was entering the hazel eyes every time Jim realized that his friend wouldn’t come, was ripping McCoy’s soft country-Doctor-heart out of his chest every time anew.

Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to let Jim know that, so he just sat slowly back in his chair and levelled a steady gaze on the younger man that was pretending to study some medical instruments lying around.

McCoy waited a couple of minutes in order to give Jim some time to collect his thoughts, before he finally broke the silence in the room, that had been as fragile as a new born insect.

“What do you want? Haven’t got all night to stare at the back of your head, y’know. Especially since your hair is getting a little thin,” he griped and raised a nonplussed eyebrow upon Jim’s indignant squawk of ‘It does no such thing!’.

The hazel eyes were staring at him clearly put out, but the man quickly reigned himself back in and straightened his posture.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I surmised as much. Didn’t think you’d just come in here in order to freshen up your memory regarding the newest medical achievements...”

“Yes, well.” Kirk faltered and pursed his lips in annoyance, while intently staring at McCoy’s collarbone. The Doctor waited another few seconds, but as nothing else was forthcoming he rolled his eyes and gestured with a jerky movement towards the chair in front of his desk.

“Sit down, Jim,” he growled and paused until the Captain had plopped down with a sigh to continue marginally more friendly, “What’s on your mind?”

The two men eyed one another across the gleaming surface of the table. They knew each other long enough; McCoy was some strange mix of friend and father and yet they had to dance around each other every time they started on the more personal topics. It was an annoying habit, but one that enabled them to keep their masks of masculine gruffness.

Finally Kirk’s air rushed out of him with an explosive breath and his broad chest and shoulders seemed to shrink a bit as he slumped minutely in his chair. Every time that happened, McCoy had the distinct picture of a young horse in mind that had just been broken in and was accepting his fate.

“Do you remember our talk a week ago? When I was leaving sickbay?” Kirk said reluctantly. He was staring at McCoy’s collarbone again, avoiding the intelligent, inquisitive gaze of the blue eyes. For the fraction of a second McCoy thought about playing with Jim a little more, but seeing the defeated slant of the thickly muscled shoulders quickly made him discard that notion.

So instead he said, “Yes, I do.”

Finally hazel eyes were slowly crawling up his neck, chin, lower face until they met his eyes. Determination was shining in them and the Captain straightened his posture. It was the posture that told his adversaries that James T. Kirk had made a decision and would not back down from it one bit.

“I didn’t lie, Bones. I really don’t remember much of the days I was incapacitated. But something did happen, didn’t it?” he demanded, tapping the pointer finger of his right hand repeatedly onto the surface of the desk before him. He leaned towards the CMO, watching him intently.

Suddenly McCoy was aware of a role reversal; Kirk was no longer the uncertain young man from just a few seconds before. Now McCoy was the prey and the other man was the formidable Captain of a Starship of the Federation and would not back down before he had his answers.

McCoy gritted his teeth for a few seconds, debating how to breech the subject. Kirk saw his hesitation – of course he did. His light brown eyebrows were slowly climbing up his smooth forehead.

“Bones. What has happened? I was unconscious. I _could_ not have done anything.” – pause for the fraction of a second and then an almost defeated, sighed, “Could I?”

This was it. The moment of truth. The CMO looked straight into the changeable hazel eyes, before slowly clasping his hands together in front of him.

“You had had many nightmares, Jim. You were at times positively raving. Nothing we did could sedate you. But Spock... _he_ could. He came strutting into the room like he owned the place, looked at you and you became as peaceful as a kitten after drinking it’s milk. Don’t know what that was about.” He paused for a moment, eying the Captain who just sat there, staring at him intently and nonplussed. It didn’t seem to surprise him, so McCoy ploughed on; shame washing over him in relentless waves as he reminded himself again of the way he had witnessed this most intimate encounter.

“You were waking one morning more or less lucid. Spock had advised me to call for him, if that happened and so I did. However, you were still pretty dizzy with all the medication we had pumped into you. I think you were a bit hallucinating. Or something like that. Jim...” The tendons in McCoy’s neck started to strain as he positively forced his head to remain upright and gaze straight into the Captain’s eyes. He owed him to look at him while saying it and not to shamefully avert his gaze.

“You kissed him, Jim.”

Silence.

All the light in the hazel eyes seemed to puff out like the flame of a candle and his eyebrows slowly lowered themselves into a straight, rigid line.

His face seemed to be carved out of stone as he said with a husky voice, “I kissed him.”

McCoy tentatively nodded.

Jim stared a little while longer and McCoy could exactly pinpoint the moment in which the whole message finally sank in: all the colour drained out of the Captain’s face and his mouth formed a little, startled ‘o’.

His hands rushed up, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles were straining against the rough skin of his worker’s hands.

“I just... kissed him? He came into the room and I just seized and kissed him?!” he croaked, staring at the Doctor with so many emotions that it was hard to discern them all. Horror, shame, disgust...

McCoy straightened slightly.

“No. He was leaning over you and wanted to ask you some questions. You were still pretty out of it and just started to ramble while grabbing at him. Something about him saving you I think. And _then_ you kissed him.”

McCoy’s gut was churning painfully and he yearned for a glass of Saurian brandy; but knew all the same that it wouldn’t do any good for his stomach in that condition.

He could not possibly hope to express with words to Jim how utterly miserable and longing he had looked upon the Vulcan; how his voice had pitched so high during that last sentences that he had sounded like a little boy asking for his Mommy; how chaste and ... loving that kiss had been.

The Doctor wanted to bury his face in his hands. He really, really wished he hadn’t been privy to that. There were things he just didn’t need to know and –

“What about Spock? What did he do, after I – ?” Jim asked, interrupting McCoy’s musings. The Doctor slightly shrugged his shoulders, clearing his throat.

“He was frozen for a few seconds and then jerked away like he had been licking at a flatiron. He seemed a bit... ah... confused, then he left pretty quickly.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No.”

The two men were gazing at each other solemnly. Jim looked pretty pale, still; but he also seemed composed. Deep lines of sorrow were etched around his downturned mouth and he looked a couple of years older than he really was.

“That... is a mess.”

“Yeah. What’re you going to do?” Bones asked unexpectedly gentle. Jim slowly stood up. Only his hands that were pressed flat onto the surface of the desk, were giving away his feelings, for the thick fingers were trembling slightly.

“I don’t know. I will have to think about it.”

Jim turned around with a jerking movement, walking towards the door like a robot. McCoy stood quickly up from his chair, leaning onto his fists on the desk.

“Jim!” he called. The Captain stopped, but didn’t turn around. McCoy was searching for words, however, he had to be content with a broken, “Are you...” – Okay? Homosexual? In love with him?

Jim straightened his posture until it nearly looked painful. His hands were curled into tight fists and the thick muscles on his back were twitching and convulsing under the tight fabric of his shirt like living beings.

“I don’t know, Bones. I don’t know _anything_ anymore.”

And with that, Jim was gone. McCoy plopped back down in his chair and rubbed his hands with a sigh over his face.

“Aw damn it all,” he mumbled.

 

The Captain didn’t return to his quarters as the CMO might have expected. Rather he made his way to Recreational Room 4; he felt overwhelmed and out of his depths and really didn’t want to be alone right now. Kirk was a gregarious animal and as such could think best when surrounded by people.

Recreational Room 4 was packed full of people relaxing after a taxing day of work. The level of noise was rather high; full of voices that were talking, laughing, boasting or yelling. Music to Kirk’s ears. He made his way straight over towards a table where a poker game was going on.

Half way across the room he nearly stopped dead in his tracks and was about to turn tail and run; for in one corner there was Spock sitting, his Vulcan harp in his lap. The man had his head bowed and was looking down on the instrument, but Kirk knew that Spock must’ve noticed him – the Vulcan seemed to have stopped even breathing.

‘What is he doing here? Normally he only is here when we are going to play chess. Maybe he was... lonely?’ Kirk thought and forced his legs to keep moving until he was at the table he had been targeting earlier.

He plopped down in one of the vacant chairs and shook his head with a tight grin as one of the Ensigns asked him if he wanted to play.

“Just watching,” he said, grabbing one of the chips that was laying in front of him and starting to play with it. Spock was straight in his line of sight and Kirk slowly crossed one leg over the other before tipping his chair back and balancing on two of its legs.

He stared at the black cap of silky hair. Spock’s head was still bowed, looking down on the instrument that was lying flat on his lap like a zither. Kirk doubted that Spock had been playing anything. One look at the pale, long hands told him why; they were twitching and shivering madly.

‘He’s nervous because of me...’ Kirk thought and felt the disgust from earlier threaten to engulf him again. He had done that. He had forced this tension into the gentle creature by advancing on him highly inappropriately.

The knowledge that Spock – _Spock_ , his best friend – was experiencing distress only because of his presence, was... agonizing.

Kirk lowered his gaze onto the poker game without really seeing what was going on. His thick fingers were playing with the chip and flicking it every now and again into the air.

His thoughts slowly revolved around what Bones had told him just now. He had kissed Spock. Kissed him. Just so.

His lips were prickling with the memory – for now he knew it _was_ a memory – of a silken, hotter-than-human mouth. The lips had been thinner than a woman’s and noticeably firmer, he remembered.

Kirk flipped the chip one more time into the air and caught it with elegant negligence, without even looking at it.

‘It was... nice,’ he thought with some wonderment. Really strange. He never had given the notion of kissing a man any thought. Now that he was, he was experiencing that he still didn’t cared for it. For _others_ , that is. He didn’t fancy kissing Bones or Scotty or Sulu or Chekov. However... He glanced up towards Spock between his thick, golden eyelashes and studied surreptitiously the profile of the oddly sensual alien lips.

A shiver ran down his spine and Kirk quickly lowered his gaze again to the table.

‘I’m in deep trouble.’ The thought wafted through his head like a thick haze, while he felt the heat of a blush slowly creep up his neck.

‘How could that happen? It’s not like I’m a homosexual suddenly. I don’t fancy men. But... I fancy Spock.’ Kirk blew out a long breath of air and let his head fall back into his neck, staring up at the ceiling. He let the noise of the room wash over him in calming waves, while his whole world seemed to tilt on her axis.

He fancied Spock. But not only as a lover – which was somehow even more surprising. No, his current situation showed him in very clear colours that he wanted Spock not only in a carnal way, but as his friend, too. The withdrawal of this friendship hurt more than anything else he had experienced yet in his life.

His mouth went dry as he remembered the Orion song from Uhura: _‘I want you to be my friend, brother, child, tutor, nightmare, dream; in short: I want you to be my lover.’_

Kirk’s lips were slowly forming the words. Friend. Brother. Child. Tutor. Nightmare. Dream. His heart began beating faster upon realizing that, yes, Spock was all of them. And more.

Slowly Kirk raised his head from its position in his neck and stilled his restless fidgeting with the chip. The two legs of the chair that were hovering in the air slowly came down and found contact with the floor. His eyes sought out Spock, who had begun moving again; slowly strumming over the strings of his harp.

His brain seemed to be stuck around the new idea of having an interest in Spock; like two cogs that weren’t properly interlocked with each other.

However, all his thought were clearing upon witnessing the next scene that unfolded before and around him.

Someone had brought a radio or something and the music had been going on in the background for a while, until Uhura – who Kirk hadn’t seen upon entering – had been encouraged to sing. The level of noise in the room dropped considerably, due to the low, sultry voice of the dark skinned woman who stood up from her chair.

Kirk didn’t recognise the song; he had no ear for music, though he enjoyed listening to it. The little hair on the back of his neck started to rise, however, when he saw Uhura make her way over to Spock. The Vulcan still had his head bowed to his instrument, so when Uhura laid her hands upon his shoulders he snapped his head up and couldn’t conceal the dear-in-the-headlights look he had on his face for a few seconds.

Kirk caught his breath as Uhura paused in her singing and said cheerfully, “Make music with me, Mr. Spock? It’s been way too long since the last time!”

A certain stillness settled over the room as everyone remembered all the reasons why it had been such a long time. Nevertheless – or perhaps just because of it – an encouraging murmur started in the crowd.

Spock’s jaw worked silently, his face an impassive, waxen mask.

“I appreciate your offer, Lieutenant. However, I find that I am fatigued and – “

“No, don’t go just yet! Please, Mr. Spock. Just one little song?” she cried out, dancing around his chair, so her pleading, dark eyes could settle on his face.

Kirk moaned inwardly. Why did she press him? Did no one see the distress in the twitch of his eyebrows or the hardening in the corners of his mouth? Did no one see the trembling in his still injured hands?

Spock obviously forced himself to keep looking into Uhura’s face.

“Lieutenant, I...”

“Please? For me, Mr. Spock?” she pleaded again, supported by more murmur around her. Spock got ever paler until his face was shining in an unhealthy hue. Ever the gentle creature, he could just not refuse the insistent pleading of one of his crewmates.

“Very well...” he rasped, his dark baritone trembling just the slightest bit.

Kirk closed his eyes in agony as he saw Spock slowly lift the instrument the Vulcan so obviously cherished and had mastered in sheer perfection.

Before his hands had been smashed into near unrecognisable pulps, that is.

The notes floating through the room were hesitant and hard; they lacked the finesse Spock usually displayed, as well as the agile swiftness. Kirk slowly cracked his eyes open and stared at Spock. His left hand with the stiffened segment of his finger was cramped badly and he was having clear trouble with it.

‘Just stop... please,’ Kirk thought with no small amount of pity. The silence in the room was deafening and Uhura’s eyes were large and dismayed.

Suddenly they all seemed to realize that Spock was – despite all his best intents in hiding it – _not_ well. That the First Officer still struggled very much with the outcome of his encounter with the Andorians. That they had done far more damage than just the physical one, for music seemed to have been Mr. Spock’s only real enjoyment out of his line of work.

“Stop...” Uhura whispered, halting the Vulcan in his clumsy efforts. Spock sat on his chair, head hanging, hands clawing at his instrument.

Even a psi-null like Kirk could sense the waves of pity and horror in the room. What had it to be like for Spock?

Suddenly the Vulcan got up from his chair and let his precious harp fall to the floor, where it crashed with a distorted clang. He did not ran out of the room. He walked; not briskly, but also not leisurely.

His head was held high, but he was looking at no one; his motions jerky and wooden until he was out of the room.

Kirk sat for a few seconds longer before following him; no one noticed their Captain leaving for they were still stunned, sitting in their places, while Uhura slowly bowed down and gently picked the harp up from the floor. She pressed it against her chest, while fierce tears were brimming in her eyes.

 

Kirk followed Spock. The Vulcan was taller and had longer legs, so he had to nearly run in order to catch him.

“Spock!” he cried, but the First Officer didn’t slow down or turn around. To the contrary; it seemed that his strides got even wider. They were now in the hallway of their quarters and Kirk feared for the Vulcan to retreat into his cave before he could get a hold on him, so he started running after all – in a very unCaptainly manner.

Kirk seized one slender, blue covered wrist and yanked the other man around. His hazel eyes were blazing and boring into the angry, desolate gaze of Spock, while his breath came in harsh gasps.

“Unhand me,” the Vulcan said, the tendons in his neck straining with the effort not to exude his much greater power upon the human.

Kirk shook his head forcefully.

“No. We have to talk. Now.”


	17. Chapter 17

Stubbornness tightened the corners of Spocks mouth and his back got – if it was even possible – more rigid.

“I don’t see any need of discussion,” the Vulcan said, wrapping himself in the tattered remains of his dignity. Kirk’s hazel eyes narrowed as he let go of Spock as if he had burned himself on the cool, blue tunic.

“Don’t, Spock. This whole... affair is messy enough as it is. Do not make this into some kind of High School drama. Go into my quarters. We need to talk.” Kirk’s voice was low but distinct as he spoke, never straying with his intense gaze from the stubborn, hurt brown eyes. Spock’s shoulders slightly – minutely – flinched backwards. Kirk mused that it probably would have been a recoil from anyone else.

Spock’s baritone was devoid of all emotion as he finally said, “Is this an order, Captain?”

Cold swept through Kirk’s being and the stockier of the two men knew that his hazel eyes shattered in dismay; he could do absolutely nothing about it and for all Spock didn’t knew about human emotions he seemed to recognize what he had just done to his best friend, if the shame washing through the dark eyes was anything to go by.

Kirk threw his shoulders back, raising his chin defiantly.

“Yes, that is an order, Commander. Go into my quarters. Now,” he raised his arm, rigidly pointing towards the Captain’s quarters further down the corridor. He thought he could still feel the throb of the blade the Vulcan had just rammed into his back and slowly rolled his shoulders and shoulder blades. Spock’s jaw protruded visibly as the Vulcan ground his teeth together; nevertheless, he spun around and walked stiffly further down.

Kirk followed slowly, staring at the pale nape of Spock’s neck, while thinking hard about what he wanted to say and what he needed to say. Spock – at that moment – was like a stranger to him. The ever controlled Vulcan First Officer seemed to be miles and miles away from the creature a few paces in front of him that very nearly stomped through the Enterprise in its badly veiled rage.

‘What is happening here? What is up with you, Mr. Spock?’ Kirk thought sluggishly, while watching as Spock came to a halt in front of the appointed doors.

Kirk didn’t comment on the fact that the Vulcan perfectly well knew the codes to his quarters and just punched them in himself. As the door finally swished shut behind them, it sounded like some kind of death sentence.

The two were standing in front of each other – Spock in the middle of the room, Kirk still with his back to the door – staring at each other; tense and unhappy and ready to fight.

‘Be my child...’ The words drifted through Kirk’s mind like a heavy, hot wind that seemed to wrap itself around his brain for a few seconds, smothering everything. Kirk flinched slightly, while curling his hands into tight fists.

And wasn’t _that_ true right now? Never – _never_ – had he witnessed Spock being so... childish, for lack of a better term. Never had Kirk been in the situation to guide and reprimand his First Officer. Wasn’t it usually the other way around? Kirk’s mouth suddenly got very, very dry.

He had to come to the bottom of this.

Spock, normally so comfortable with silences, broke it with visible impatience in the slant of his silky, black eyebrows.

“You wanted to discuss something –“ For the fraction of a second, Spock caught his breath; he didn’t seem to know how to address Kirk at that moment. Should he say ‘Captain’ and further enlarge the gap between them? Should he say ‘Jim’ and lie about an intimacy and trust he was currently not feeling? So he shut his mouth with a nearly audible ‘click’ and without saying anything.

Kirk very nearly smiled at that. At least Spock didn’t seem totally obstinate. The fact that he still could – at least in his opinion – follow the train of thought of this highly intelligent being was also somehow reassuring. Maybe _his_ Spock was there under that rough shell after all.

“Yes. Although – maybe ‘discuss’ isn’t the right term, Mr. Spock. To be honest, I don’t want to discuss anything. I want to ask – and I want _you_ to answer.” He paused a few seconds, gauging the reaction of the tall, slender man in front of him. Spock slightly raised his head higher, his slim nostrils flaring. Kirk was reminded of the time in sickbay; Spock’s lower face encased in bandages that were preventing him from any normal way of communication. He reminded the Captain again of a young horse – nervous and ready to fight or flee.

‘Or maybe a panther...’ he mused, still waiting and concentrating on his breathing. Slowly he relaxed the tight fists of his hands, consciously stretching his fingers. He saw the chocolate eyes dart quickly to the new movement and nearly smiled as Spock, too, relaxed minutely in answer to Kirk’s less aggressive body language.

“You have avoided me for the last week, Spock. Why?” his voice low and soothing, Kirk felt a sudden tingle at the base of his spine that worked its way slowly up his back, until it reached the nape of his neck. For a few seconds the human felt strangely detached from the situation as he observed surprisingly objective that he was just now growing – as a person, as a Captain, as a human being.

‘All thanks to you, my friend. And it took so much agony from your part to finally teach me,’ he thought. He was aware of the way his face softened slightly and how his eyes had to shine like liquid gold right now.

Spock just stood there, watching the Captain, balling his shivering hands over and over again into loose fists; clearly at a loss as to how he should interpret everything Kirk was signalling right now.

It had to be highly confusing for the Vulcan to follow the sudden emotional shifts around them – first anger and rage; now understanding and gratitude.

Kirk watched as Spock fought an inner battle, until the Vulcan finally said, “I have not avoided you. At least not you alone. I am attempting to teach myself...”

The baritone faltered and Spock looked off to the side. Kirk’s brow furrowed slightly and he took a slow step towards the alien.

“Teach yourself what exactly, Mr. Spock?” he asked. The words hung between them for a few seconds, until Spock’s left eyebrow slightly furrowed and he looked back towards the Captain.

“My apologies. I find that I am unable to elaborately express my current situation in terms that would be understandable for a human,” he said at last. Kirk gazed into the wounded, gentle eyes and took another step towards Spock. He only had to stretch his arm out in order to touch the other man, now.

“Nevertheless; try me,” he insisted; stubborn male pride rearing it’s head. The corners of Spock’s mouth twitched in a distinctly exasperated way that had Kirk smile faintly. Never one to disregard a direct order – at least not usually – Spock dutifully lowered his head in contemplation.

When he started talking, his dark baritone voice was smooth and calm, “Since my abduction by the Andorians I find myself isolated from this Ship’s crew. I have been remiss – prior to the incident – to fully realize how immense my attachment to my fellow beings on this ship was, so the backlash of suddenly being shut out has seriously imbalanced my inner chemistry.”

Spock fell silent again, gazing expectantly at Kirk. The human had his eyebrows drawn together, until a deep, straight crease was marring his otherwise smooth, golden skin, right between his eyes.

It often was difficult to talk to Spock. One had to translate everything the Vulcan said; not only into understandable words but also what intent there was behind them. Spock, Kirk had long ago noticed, never said anything without a second meaning. So he was wrecking his brain at the moment in order to comprehend what exactly the man was telling him.

“You said, you feel ‘isolated’. In what way?” he finally said, looking up into the austere face. The gentle, chocolate brown eyes gave a minute twitch and Kirk realized that Spock had attempted to shy away from the intense gaze of his Captain, but forced himself simultaneously to hold the burning hazel eyes.

Spock’s lips narrowed stubbornly. Silence reigned between them, until Kirk finally decided to tackle the issue from another perspective and said, “You are not telling me everything, Spock. You _have_ been avoiding me in particular.”

It was like shutters were being thrown over the soulful eyes of the Vulcan and he straightened slightly. However, no explanation was forthcoming.

Kirk’s eyes narrowed slightly, impatience warring with the need to go slow with the Vulcan. But in order to go slow, he needed to _understand_ what was happening with Spock. How could one help, if one didn’t know the cause of the problem?

Everything seemed so... wrong between them. It was like they were connected through some wire, but the electrical charge constantly going through it was blocked.

The Captain resorted to the last thing he could think of: Pleading.

“Spock... let me help you. Please.” He raised his open, empty hands in entreaty towards the Vulcan, who stared in open dismay at them. He seemed so reluctant and unhappy; it made Kirk’s gut clench painfully.

When nothing was forthcoming, he let his hands fall dejectedly to his sides again. He felt defeated.

“Very well,” he murmured, voice deep and husky, as he stepped to the side and gestured towards the door.

“You may go, Mr. Spock. I am sorry to have kept you from – “

“You can’t help me. How can you help me, if I myself don’t understand it fully?” the baritone interrupted Kirk. Spock hadn’t moved from his place; his head was lowered and he was gazing intently onto the thick, dark carpet in Kirk’s quarters.

The Captain felt a thrill going through him and he swallowed convulsively a sudden flow of saliva.

“You are _not_ alone, Spock. Despite what you think – you are not isolated or shut out. As long as I have breath left in my body, I will be trying to help you. I told you already: I will help you heal,” Kirk said with an intense voice, while taking another step towards Spock. Their chests were nearly brushing now and the tactile man had to force himself not to grab for the Vulcan, whose pupils dilated widely in reaction to the close proximity.

Some muscles in Spock’s cheek twitched and the Vulcan was taking a minute step backwards in order to bring a little more distance between the two of them.

“May I show you?” Spock said after a while, slowly raising his right hand. His shivering fingers were splayed and poised just above Kirk’s melding points. The human could feel the heat radiating from the dry skin of the Vulcan.

Kirk slowly licked his lips, holding Spock’s gaze intently. He tried to discern all the emotions churning in the dark depths. Fear, longing, utter dejection.

“Yes, you may, Mr. Spock.”

The hot fingers pressed themselves onto his skin and the Captain threw his head backwards in a violent jerking motion as a jumble of emotions, thoughts and pictures hit him like a sledgehammer. Spock’s fingers, however, never left his skin, as if they were glued to it.

 

Coldness like an arctic wind swept through Kirk, causing all the little hair on his body to stand up at attention. He could not tell if he was surrounded by an intense darkness, or if his eyes were closed. All he could do at the moment was feel – feel an intense intelligence that nearly threatened to crack his head open like an overripe fruit. Vast, Vulcan intelligence that was dancing ‘just so’ out of his reach but was all the same enough to make him strain at the invisible bonds surrounding him in order to get away from it.

‘This is, how it is now... solitary in my head,’ Spock’s voice told him from nowhere in particular. The immense pressure; all the thoughts and emotions that were being constantly analysed, categorized, catalogued, compartmentalized and taken back out again in self destructive curiosity that just wanted to _understand_ , were causing the human to cry out in agony and slump in the invisible bonds.

He panted heavily, his eyes felt too big for his head and excruciatingly tender.

‘This is, how it used to be.’

Something scraped at the edge of his knowledge and it took a huge effort for the Captain in order to let it into his consciousness.

The slow trickle of information entering the pressure of a never quieted mind told of a more tranquil time, when the thoughts and knowledge and feelings of other people had been seeping inside, lending a frame of reference for all the unknown factors and enabling the gnawing curiosity to be satisfied now and again.

The human mind struggled to understand this concept of a never satisfied scientific need to know, coupled with this incredible intelligence that was both blessing and curse.

Before he could fully grasp it, however, the self-awareness in this strange realm shifted slightly. Blurred pictures of the past few days were swimming before his eyes. Each and every one accompanied by shreds of thoughts and an emotional landscape that he, as a human, could understand, but was at the same time aware that Spock was totally overwhelmed with.

He saw the scene in sickbay – dismayed to witness first hand how he had grabbed the Vulcan and kissed him. He felt with wonder the excitement that had been coursing through Spock and flinched away from the disgust and hatred and terror that soon followed; everything directed straight backwards against the Vulcan.

Kirk’s mouth fell slightly open when he realized that some of his own terror and insecurities that he had harboured due to his dreams, had obviously been bleeding over while he had been grabbing Spock; he had no other explanation for the total breakdown of the normally calm and stoic man that had followed the kiss. Well... that and the fact that Spock hadn’t been expecting such an advance at all and that it had totally thrown him off his game.

Despite the fact that Kirk currently seemed to be nothing more than some astral projection, he could still feel the goosebumps that were appearing along his real body, as he experienced the wave of shame engulfing Spock as well as his inner turmoil that raged relentlessly with what he obviously needed and wanted and still somehow feared.

The human almost could understand Spock’s ‘logical’ decision to try and avoid all factors that were contributing to his problem. His head was throbbing painfully with all the information that was mercilessly attacking his brain that was not suited to such fierce, Vulcan intelligence.

‘Stop... please,’ he moaned finally, hanging limp in the invisible bonds. His head was lolling forwards, his astral chin hitting his chest.

‘There is more,’ was Spock’s impassive answer and ghostly fingers, long and delicate and hotter than a human seemed to grip his chin and force his head back up so he had to witness the week in which the Vulcan had tried with all his might to avoid everyone.

How it had hurt the man to reject Kirk time and time again and yet how relieved he had been when he realized that his Captain had finally given up.

‘But why were you in the rec room?’ Kirk asked sluggishly. His eyes seemed to be burning and he felt a short wave of regret wash over him, before Spock seemed to open the floodgates of his very being.

Kirk was not aware of his agonized screams that were even emitted from his physical body, nor was he aware of the way Spock slowly disengaged from his mind.

The utter desolation and loneliness he had felt had pierced right through to his core, it seemed. Spock’s realization that he simply could not live without the contact to other beings – that his human side was, in fact, yearning for the exchange with his fellow crewmembers – had been nearly physically painful. He had been so lonely during this week that it had finally driven him to mingle under the other life forms, despite the fact that the muted emotions that were sluggishly filtering through to him, were driving home the knowledge of his isolation from them.

And Kirk _understood_ it all. Because he had felt it. He had felt it on Tarsus IV as a boy – not quite a teenager but also not too small to survive. He had felt this isolation and desolation on the streets where everybody had been fighting for themselves and nobody had paid any attention to a starving kid, because they had started to raid the stinking trash in their backyards for scraps of food.

 

The first thing Kirk got aware of, was the fact that he was still standing; somehow – miraculously – his knees hadn’t buckled like his mind had as it had been confronted with the absolutely incredible fact that his and Spock’s experiences were so much alike.

No. That was not precise enough.

What was really mind boggling for the human, was the fact that the causes could not have been more different and yet the effects were so similar that it drove him nearly to tears to think that one of his crew – one under his care – had to go through such trauma.

He marvelled at the utter Vulcan strength that had enabled Spock to bury all this pain and insecurity under a cold mask of indifference for this whole week. Never – _never_ – would Kirk have expected such utter hell under the cool demeanour of Spock.

“Jim...”

Kirk jerked violently, for the dark baritone was directly murmured into his ear. Suddenly he got aware of another fact: he was not only still standing, but he wasn’t standing on his own like he had thought. He was standing with his forehead firmly plastered to Spock’s shoulder, while the hands of the Vulcan – curiously not shivering but slightly twitching – were curled clumsily around his trim waist.

The Captain closed his eyes, savouring the heat radiating off of Spock, as well as the masculine, spicy scent of the alien creature. His head was still throbbing with the sheer complexity of the Vulcan brain and so he wasn’t in the mood to scrutinize the fact that he utterly enjoyed being somewhat held by Spock at this moment.

The other man, however, had obviously other plans. Gently he pushed Kirk away, while murmuring, “Please take a seat, while I conjure some water for you. It will help with the headache. I am grieved that I have caused you such a distress, but I was not sure how to articulate the problem otherwise.”

The formality and calmness with which Spock was speaking was anchoring Kirk further to reality and the Captain slowly straightened himself. He had his eyes still closed, took a deep breath and let it slowly rush out again, before he wearily rubbed over his eyes and nodded.

“Yes. I think I will sit down. Thank you, Mr. Spock,” he murmured. He felt respiration on his forehead and wiped it impatiently away with his sleeve, before he gingerly made his way over towards the couch. It was slightly more lush than Spock’s but still terribly uncomfortable for his aching body, as he lowered himself onto the surface.

He let his head fall back against the headrest and observed Spock’s movements through narrowed eyes that were still tender and throbbing under the lids.

He thought about everything his First Officer had just shown and told him. The knowledge that Spock had practically bared himself in front of his commanding Officer, created a lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow. It was a humbling experience.

He watched the elegant movements of Spock with which he punched in his order in the replicator and accepted the cool glass, when it was held in front of him. While he took gingerly a sip, Spock procured the chair from behind his desk and sat down next to the couch.

Kirk eyed the Vulcan over the rim of his glass and Spock calmly gazed back with his dark chocolate eyes.

The humour of the situation was not lost on the two men; only two weeks prior they had sat in the exact same constellation in the next room that was only one bulkhead away. The liquid in Kirk’s glass had been amber instead of clear, but nevertheless...

The corners of Kirk’s mouth slowly curved upwards around the rim of his glass and his tired hazel eyes sprang to life once more in obvious mirth. When he saw a slight creasing at the corners of Spock’s eyes that was clearly displaying a certain... amusement on the part of the Vulcan, he lost it completely and began to splutter and cough a laugh – he had gotten water in his windpipe.

Spock just calmly clasped his hands together in his lap and waited patiently until the other man regained his composure.

Kirk let his head fall back once more and when he stopped wheezing, he focussed on the other man – a secret smile playing at the corners of his pale pink lips. Spock gazed calmly back; his face austere and composed, but Kirk saw in the slant of the dark eyebrows and the set of the delicately carved lips that the Vulcan, too, felt relaxed. Probably for the first time since his encounter with the Andorians.

Slowly Kirk’s smile faded away, leaving a thoughtful expression on the masculine face. He raised his right arm and slowly rubbed over his jaw; he could feel the stubble of the day under his fingertips and almost immediately searched the angular, narrow jaw of Spock for a similar shadow. He could see none.

“What now, Mr. Spock?” he sighed at last. The strange surge of levity had passed and left him in a contemplative and almost melancholy mood. However, he felt a little more... certain. He did not know _how_ to help Spock; but at least he had an inkling as to what was weighing the Vulcan down. Before Spock could answer his first question, though, the Captain said, “A problem shared, is a problem halved, eh?”

Slanted eyebrows twitched slightly and Spock got a strange look in his eyes. For the fraction of a second Kirk thought that Spock would attack the illogicality of the proverb, but the Vulcan surprised him by saying, “Indeed, Jim. We do share a lot... don’t we?”

The human’s eyebrows surged upwards and his mouth fell slightly open. He had the ridiculous notion that Spock was alluding to his attraction to him and therefore flirting, until he recognized the serious, appraising look in the dark eyes.

The muscles at his jaw protruded, when he gritted his teeth. Spock was talking about Tarsus IV.

‘How much has he seen? How much have I shown?’ he thought; his brain was still searching for an answer, when Spock said, “Regarding to your first question: I don’t know.”

Kirk shoved his right hand through his gold-brown hair, causing it to stand up. Spock’s eyes twitched towards the spiky mane that his Captain had created, but soon focused back on the hazel eyes.

The Captain felt his heart beat faster and had to force himself to keep watching the other man, when he said, “I don’t know, what exactly I... transmitted during – “ Kirk cursed inwardly when he felt a blush slowly creep up his neck; he pretended casual negligence, “ – that kiss. You must know that I was pretty out of it and haven’t really been myself. Spock, you... don’t have to fear anything from me. You know that, don’t you?”

His voice got low and sincere during the last part and he slowly lowered his gaze to the glass of water he was still clutching in his left hand. Kirk had to consciously relax his grip in order not to crush the fragile material. Therefore he didn’t see the way Spock’s gaze shied away from him and the uneasiness that was creeping into the position of the tense shoulders.

He had to look upwards, however, when the dark baritone crawled into his ears and caused the little hair on the back of his neck to stand at attention.

“I have to admit that I probably overreacted. I have not been prepared for this display of affection and had been remiss in anticipating the effect the proximity of your person would have upon my neurological system.”

Kirk stared for a moment at the gentle creature sitting across from him on the chair. Their knees were almost touching, but the Captain was too occupied with dissecting what Spock had said to really notice their proximity.

“The effect my proximity would have upon your neurological system?” he echoed at last, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He leaned sideways and put the nearly empty glass down on the floor, before he settled his forearms upon his thighs, looking intently at his First Officer.

His stomach made a strange, little flip when he noticed a delicate blush spreading across the pale, olive tinged face. He felt nearly guilty, when the thought ‘He looks beautiful...’ wafted through his mind. Never before had he thought of another man as beautiful; a very strange feeling indeed.

Spock, in the meantime, was staring intently at the shelf Kirk had attached to the bulkhead next to the couch.

The Captain had the feeling that Spock was consciously keeping his face neutral as the Vulcan answered, “I have conducted a few surreptitious tests during your convalescence, but in order for you to understand, I have to go further back in my elaboration.

“Due to the fact that I have not been able to feel the emotions as well as detect the surface thoughts of my fellow beings through close proximity only, my attention to casual contact has been heightened exponentially. I remembered that the last time I have had a distinct feeling of the emotions and thoughts of... someone – “ Gentle, large eyes quickly darted to hazel ones and back again to the shelf, “ – there had been a contact of skin to skin. It had been a highly minimal one of just a thumb upon my person. Nevertheless, I also recalled that I have had skin to skin contact with Lieutenant Uhura during our rescue mission, in which parts of my hands had been in contact with parts of her exposed skin in a much larger quantity than in the before mentioned scenario. However, no emotions or thoughts have been transmitting.

“So I had started conducting research. I have exposed myself frequently to physical contact with various crewmembers. However, only the most primitive emotions have been coming through. I have to confess that the research has not been going on long enough by the time I visited your bedside, but I have been, nonetheless...”

“...not been prepared for the effect my proximity would have upon your neurological system,” Kirk finished the sentence for Spock. There was a wondrous note in his voice and his eyebrows slowly climbed his smooth forehead, while Spock nodded stiffly.

“Why do you suppose is that?” Kirk asked curiously and almost smiled, when Spock abandoned his contemplation of the shelf and instead lowered his head in order to speak to his lap.

“I have thought about this dilemma during the last week. My only explanation is that our minds and... souls are attuned in such a way that a communication between us is much more natural than between all the other human beings on the Enterprise,” the baritone said and although Spock’s voice was perfectly neutral and as aloof as ever, Kirk had the distinct feeling that the Vulcan was reluctant to speak.

Normally he would have started teasing the other man mercilessly, like he had so often over one of their chess games, but he was too preoccupied with the words Spock had just spoken, for they had kick-started something in his brain.

Thoughts were tripping over one another and fighting to get to the forefront as something like a dam broke and he started remembering things from before his fever dreams. Things he had totally forgotten until now.

The Captain ducked down low, craning his head until he was looking into Spock’s face. His hazel eyes were big and searching as he murmured with numb lips, “I’ki sa-kai. That’s it, isn’t it? _You_ said that. _You_ have been that presence that has kick-started my heart. I hadn’t known at the time but... you had said I’ki sa-kai. Soulbrother. I remember now, Spock!”

He nearly screamed the last part. Whether it was out of anger that he hadn’t remembered earlier or out of euphoria that he had found the key to a lock he hadn’t even noticed was there... he himself did not know. His back snapped straight and he would’ve sprung up from his seat in order to pace around his quarters, if he hadn’t been trapped between the couch and Spock who had snapped his head up at Kirk’s outcry.

The green tinge in his olive skin seemed to deepen a little and Kirk grinned broadly as he realized the Vulcan was sheepish. Spock seemed to force himself to remain calm and meet the gaze of his Captain. He spoke with perfect dignity, “Indeed, Captain. I believe that this is the case. I can not be sure weather we truly share a bond of I’ki sa-kai, but at this moment it seems to be the only explanation. We would have to seek a Vulcan healer out in order to verify this particular fact.”

Kirk let that settle in, staring at Spock with a contemplating gaze. The Vulcan looked uneasy when a slow, lazy smile slowly spread across Kirk’s face. It looked positively predatory and his voice was low, when he said, “So... how was it different from all the other touches?”

‘You are flirting, Kirk. You are _flirting_ with a _man_.’ He caught his breath and waited for disgust and shame to settle in, but neither came. He felt lightheaded and strange.

Spock slightly sat back in his chair. The tendons in his neck were protruding slightly and his the grip of his clasped fingers increased in pressure until his knuckles became white. His voice was very clipped, when he answered, “They were very clear. Hence my unfortunate, explosive reaction.”

The charming smile was immediately wiped off of Kirk’s face and the man cleared his throat. Sweat was starting to break out between his shoulder blades.

‘Speaking with him is like walking a tightrope. I have to be much more cautious when interacting with him in the future,’ Kirk thought. A pressure he could not yet identify settled deep in his gut as he started to get an inkling of what he was starting to get himself into. This was no casual fling on one of the shore leave planets. He wouldn’t win Spock over with a lazy, cocky grin and a wink of his sparkling hazel eyes. He would have to fight for everything with this stubborn, highly intelligent man.

Did he want to?

Kirk gazed into the vulnerable, gentle chocolate eyes that were looking at him with near suspicion under a fringe of severely cut, black hair.

Yes. He wanted to.

“Spock. I’m sorry. You know my mouth runs away with me sometimes. I didn’t want to step over any boundaries,” he said, holding his empty hands up in a peace offering. The tense set of Spock’s shoulders slightly relaxed, while the Vulcan quipped, “I am perfectly aware of your habit to speak before you think, Captain. It is a most irritating trait.”

The corners of Kirk’s mouth curled upward. He let his gaze travel down the slender upper body of his First Officer, before looking him in the eyes again.

“Do you still feel threatened by me, Spock?” he asked solemnly.

“Should I?” came the quiet response. The two men could no longer look at each other. Their hands were curled into tight fists.

“I... don’t know. No. You should not feel threatened, but... well. I think you uh... picked a few things up.”

“...Indeed.”

“Yeah,” this sounded distinctly sheepish.

Spock did not answer. They were still not looking at each other when the Vulcan broke the awkward silence and said, “I should be going now, Captain. It is getting late.”

It sounded a little stiff, but Kirk didn’t hear the tight anxiety in it from before so he thought it was fine to let the man go now; especially since he wasn’t sure what to say anymore without sounding sappy.

He cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Yes, Mr. Spock. It is late.”

He pushed himself energetically into a standing position; he did not, however, calculate that Spock would be standing at the same moment. Their chests collided with one another and Kirk started spinning his arms in order not to fall due to his entrapment between the couch and Spock.

Vulcan reflexes kicked in, grabbing his commanding Officer at his broad shoulders while quickly stepping away from the man, bringing distance between them.

If their breathing was way to fast for such a simple manoeuvre, none of them commented on it.

“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said with dignity, following the alien to the doors to his quarters. Just outside the reach of the sensors, however, he spoke up again, “Chess tomorrow evening?”

Spock halted, his back still turned towards the Captain. Kirk had the sinking feeling that Spock would decline once again, but after a few unbearably tense seconds, the rigid line of Spock’s shoulders slightly relaxed.

“I would enjoy that, Captain.”

And with that Spock was gone.


	18. Chapter 18

Kirk sat back in his chair, a satisfied grin ghosting over his lips. He made a show out of clasping his hands in front of his stomach, while throwing Spock one of his cockiest looks. He had done one of the most random moves in a long time and Spock’s not-frown showed him how much he annoyed the Vulcan right now.

The Captain couldn’t help it; after all, it was the first time in a very long time that the two of them were engaged in a game of chess – and even longer since they did it in the privacy of one of their quarters. Spock hadn’t felt up to the challenge to once again plunge into one of the rec rooms after yesterday’s... performance. The Vulcan hadn’t said so but the simple fact that he had suddenly stood outside Kirk’s quarters had been telling enough for the human.

So now they were sitting at his desk on opposite sides and were engaged in one of the most random plays. Kirk was going all out tonight in his euphoria of having his best friend back and Spock seemed to be at least willing to indulge him.

The Vulcan threw Kirk another last gaze; the slightly pinched expression virtually screaming to the Captain how miffed Spock was only adding to his mirth.

The elegant head bent slightly so the chocolate eyes could intently observe the new situation on the board, while a velvet baritone murmured nearly inaudible, “Highly illogical.”

A full fledged grin spread across Kirk’s features because he could see the shy trembling in the left corner of Spock’s mouth that spoke of a tentative amusement from the other man.

Spock never was one to accept a comical situation lightly and especially today – after the tall, slender body had walked stiff and tense like a log into his room – it seemed like a huge accomplishment for the human to have wiggled this slight trembling of lips out of his friend.

The grin slowly faded from his face, while Kirk was gazing at Spock across the desk and chessboard. The immaculately groomed cap of black hair was so dark that there were bluish highlights in the darkness, if one was paying very close attention.

He utilized the moment in which Spock’s formidable attention was on the board to lazily take in the appearance of the other man and slowly process it. Kirk tried to objectively contemplate all the information and let his body decide what it thought of everything that seemed to have surfaced in the past weeks. The Captain knew that his First Officer would probably scoff – Vulcan scoff, that is – at this notion of letting the body decide and not the cold logicality of the brain, but he also knew that he was more in tune with his physicality than others and normally he could trust the signals of his body.

The gaze of his hazel eyes was travelling from the dark hair towards the delicately pointed tips of the Vulcan ears that always seemed to peek out mischievously although they were on open display. Kirk never had given them much contemplation aside from the times Bones steered his attention specifically towards them; and the one time he himself had been wearing them during the mission to retrieve the Romulan Cloaking Device. He had rather... liked them. They were exotically to look at and Kirk was always fond of everything exotic – one only needed to look at the list of women he had flirted with. He frowned slightly when he caught his mind going back towards the fairer sex like some kind of self-preservation drive and slowly travelled the curve of one ear, gliding to the slant of a silky, black eyebrow that was slightly furrowed in intense contemplation.

‘But are they really ‘fairer’?’ Kirk thought lazily and tilted his head to one side, while he intently gazed at smooth, olive tinged skin and dark, soulful eyes that were surrounded by shockingly long, black eyelashes. The hazel eyes travelled down the back of a long, straight nose and towards beautifully curved and oddly sensual lips that were set in an almost grim, straight line.

His gut clenched slightly when he took in the hard, straight line of a masculine jaw, darkened ‘just so’ by the shadow of a beard.

‘He is beautiful,’ Kirk had to admit with the appreciation of someone who had an eye for everything that was pleasing to look at. And yet he could not forget the fact that Spock was a man. There was nothing feminine in the lines of his slightly too big nose or the stubborn set of his jaw. The tall, slender body had only planes and angles; there were no soft curves that could distract from the fact that Spock was – well, masculine. Utterly and thoroughly masculine.

Kirk drew his eyebrows together in concentration, listening inside himself.

Was he repulsed by Spock? No. That one was easy.

Was he intrigued by the alien? Hell, yes. That one was easy as well.

But... could he be _aroused_ by him? His eyes travelled down a strong neck with a slightly protruding Adam’s apple and over shoulders that were narrower than his but still straight and proud and deceptively strong; down over a flat chest that was tightly muscled – and also furred with dark, straight hair – as he knew from one of the rare times he had sparred with Spock.

Kirk could not look further down due to the desk being in his way and so travelled along long, slender arms to hands that were currently resting on either side of the board, while the Vulcan still thought about his move.

Spock’s hands. Even before his abduction by the Andorians they had been _the_ part of Spock’s anatomy that he had frequently thought about and looked at. They just were mesmerizing. Long and slender and so very dextrous. They always were meticulously manicured and clean. Kirk suspected that the whole man always was as clean as a cat and a lazy smile slowly spread across his face once more.

He tried imagining these talented hands on his skin and found that he had no problem with it. In fact...

‘I would like it very much,’ he thought dazedly, watching as the Vulcan slowly raised his right hand and hovered over one of the rooks. He didn’t grasp it immediately, though. Kirk’s gaze flew quickly back and forth between the hand and Spock’s gaze. The large, dark eyes were fixed on the board. The Captain could almost see all the thoughts about different strategies flit around behind them. Spock’s gaze was so intense that it sent an electrical charge down his spine. How would it be to have all this formidable concentration fixed on his own person?

Kirk had to swallow for his throat suddenly had gone dry. A blush wanted to creep up his thick neck, but he fought it down, looking at the hand again in order to distract himself.

The fingers poised over the rook started trembling. Just so. Just the most minute shaking. And yet it was enough to shatter all tentative erotic feelings that had been budding inside the man, for it brought home all the reasons why the two of them were sitting right now across from each other at a desk playing chess.

Spock had been – and still was – traumatized. Hell, a simple, chaste kiss had sent the man into a nearly catatonic state and had led him to avoid the Captain for a week! This trembling of his hand – as minute as it was – drove home once more how utterly defiled and nearly broken the man had been. Kirk closed his eyes and unclasped the hands on his stomach in order to seize the armrests of his chair in a near death grip. A picture of Spock flitted through his brain; kneeling naked on that floor; jaw broken and hanging at a strange angle; hands smashed until they were nearly unrecognizable, being hugged protectively to his chest; lean runner’s thighs trembling like the flank of an animal that had been hunted until it was simply to weak to run any longer.

Would a creature who had endured something so intense ever want to be touched in an intimate way ever again?

Kirk himself was a highly tactile and sensual being. He needed physical contact. Did that mean that any further venture in that area was doomed from the beginning? Maybe he should just let it all be and let Spock go. Friends was okay. Really.

“Jim?” the velvet baritone cut through him and caused his eyes to snap open.

His very being seemed to hum enticingly in response to that voice and he stared dumbfounded at the clear superior amusement in the slant of the eyebrows and the minute curling of the corners of his mouth.

“Are you that devastated that I am defeating you in exactly three moves?” the Vulcan teased with a rumbling of satisfaction in his voice that sounded like a purr.

Kirk’s brain struggled to make sense of everything as his mouth fell slightly open and he looked alternatively between Spock and the chess board.

After a few seconds his brain kicked back into gear and his mouth pressed together into a grim line.

“We’ll see about that, Mr. Spock. Don’t you get cocky on me!” he growled and got a last glimpse of Spock before leaning over the board.

The Vulcan looked just so smug right now in that understated, Vulcan way of his. Just like he had right before the incident.

He looked like a great, sleek black panther. Utterly deadly and utterly delicious.

Kirk smiled deviously at the chess board while randomly picking a horse.

‘No. Friends won’t be okay any longer, Mr. Spock. I want more. I want way more.’

 

Spock was leaning over his Science Station, intently watching the data being displayed. He only listened with one ear to everything that was going on around him. He was just too fascinated by –

“ETA, Mr. Sulu?” came the utterly bored voice of his Captain and cut through his iron hard concentration like a white hot iron through butter. Spock caught himself just before he let go with an exasperated sigh as he straightened and turned around in order to look for Kirk, who was – to his surprise – sitting with his chair turned his way and a grin on his face that could only be described as ‘kirkian’.

“54.6 hours, Captain,” came the response from Sulu who was used to his Captain getting restless on Alpha shift during these uneventful parts of their journey.

Spock suspected that the Captain wasn’t paying any attention to the helmsman right now, though. He suspected even, that Kirk had only asked in order to annoy him, if that grin and the sparkling hazel eyes were anything to go by.

Spock straightened his back, clasping his shivering hands behind it and raised a disapproving eyebrow at his Captain, who laughed – silently but openly.

The Vulcan’s stomach tightened at the sight. His dark eyes took in the picture of Kirk. The golden hair brushed backwards and behaving except for that unruly lock that always fell over his smooth forehead. Amused hazel eyes that were getting a curiously predatory gaze as all the mirth faded out of the lively face.

Spock had seen that predatory gaze already the night before, while they had been playing chess. He turned quickly around, back to his station and leaned over the devices in order to escape any further interaction with Kirk.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of him – it was more that he didn’t know what to make of that. They had not discussed the... kiss or anything that went along with it. Not really. Kirk had said that he needn’t be ‘on his toes’ – as was the human expression – in his presence and that had been that.

Spock had almost thought his overreacting brain had been imagining things. But now?

Kirk was behaving like he always did. Even before this whole business had started the Captain would have made such a manoeuvre in order to try and elicit a reaction out of his stoic First Officer.

The look in his hazel eyes, however, was utterly new.

What exactly did he want from Spock? The same like he wanted from all his female companions? The mere thought of anything sexual made the Vulcan’s testicles try and crawl back up into his body. His hands gripped the edge of the Science Station with nearly bruising force.

His mind shied quickly away from this line of thought and he slowly let himself sink into his chair while contemplating Kirk further.

For humans it had to be a privilege to be fancied by James T. Kirk. His Captain was very... pleasing to look at.

If the way his body’s temperature increased by 0.78 degrees was anything to go by, than he also quite... valued this privilege. However, he did not know where that left him or what to do about it. He closed his eyes thinking about the picture Kirk had just made; unruly hair, predatory gaze, smiling mouth and all.

Like a lion enthroned on that centre chair, watching over his pride and bestowing his attention upon one of them.

The corners of Spock’s lips tilted secretly upwards.

 

Uhura slowly turned around again in her chair, a contemplative look on her dark features after she had witnessed the exchange between Captain and First Officer. She raised one hand towards her lips and slowly tapped against her lower lip with one expertly manicured fingernail.

‘Hmm...’ she thought, then concentrated on the incoming messages again.

 

Spock was just about to kneel down on his meditation mat, when the computer announced a visitor. His eyebrows drew slightly together and he looked down at himself, making sure that the dark, exquisitely tailored robe sat right on his slender frame, before slowly going to the door.

Who could that be? It was 2100 and he had just gotten back from a few experiments in the labs. It couldn’t be Kirk for he had witnessed a short conversation between the Captain and the CMO via communicator that had made it clear the two were intending to indulge themselves tonight. (And his sudden immersion into the more mundane experiments had nothing to do with that.)

However, it would be illogical to further speculate on the identity of his late visitor as he just needed to open the door in order to see who it was.

Lieutenant Uhura smiled shyly up at him. Her dark eyes were large and sad but tender, while she obviously was hiding something behind her back. It gave the First Officer a little jolt to see the woman; they had somehow avoided each other since the fiasco from two nights prior and seeing her now brought back once more his utter failure in the rec room.

His austere face went motionless and his lips felt like rubber, as he greeted her gravely.

“Lieutenant Uhura. It is a little late for a visit, don’t you think?”

The Communication’s Officer tilted her head and cleared her throat lightly.

“I am sorry if I disturbed you, Mr. Spock. I just wanted to talk to you and... bring a little peace offering?” she said, her voice lilting at the end, while she rocked on the balls of her feet, shrugging her shoulders exaggeratedly in order to draw his attention to the arms that were clutching something behind her back.

The Vulcan would never admit to it but he suspected that it was rather obvious to the crew of the Enterprise that he was as curious as a cat. Nevertheless he was silent for a few long seconds, staring with an unreadable gaze at the Lieutenant and nearly making her squirm, before he slowly stepped to the side in order to let her in.

“If you’ll excuse me one moment; I will change my attire.”

Her lips formed a perfect ‘o’ of surprise and she shook her head quickly.

“Oh I didn’t want to stay for long, Mr. Spock. Please don’t go out of your way for me.”

He inclined his head stiffly, while straightening his back.

“It is only common decency to regard a lady with the respect that is her due,” he intoned gravely and gestured towards his narrow, uncomfortable couch for her to sit, before he made his way towards his bathroom in order to change.

Uhura smiled after him, shaking her head in wonder. Spock could be so archaic – and yet gallant – at times that it was mind boggling. She wondered if it was customary on Vulcan or if he maybe indulged in reading medieval novels. That mental picture brought a smile to her face and she felt a little more grounded again.

The whole episode from two days prior had been sitting very heavily in her stomach. She had so desperately wanted to believe that the First Officer was ‘all right’ again that she simply had thrown every caution to the wind and had pressured him into something he very clearly had not yet been up to.

Spock, however, ever polite hadn’t obviously had the heart to refuse her. Now that she thought about it; it was rather strange. She new that the First Officer never had any qualms in speaking his mind and was known to sometimes almost brag with his knowledge in front of others – but that was probably just it.

Outside of the Enterprise he could slip into an almost domineering personality. Inside, however, he was always unfailingly polite and courteous. Only when speaking with the Doctor had she ever witnessed him being flippant or a little more straightforward.

‘It’s like he is afraid to be shut out the moment he speaks his mind. Or maybe it’s just his way of showing us that we are his... family?’ she thought wondrously, clutching the present she had brought with her, tighter behind her back.

And this gentle creature was to be involved with James Tomcat Kirk?

There were just so many arguments against that, that her head was nearly spinning. On the other hand... there were just as many arguments _for_ it. These two men were totally out of every spectrum she had ever witnessed; Uhura was quite adept in assessing others – that came with her job – but her two commanding Officers were enigmas to her. She just couldn’t help it – she had to poke about a bit.

 

Kirk thought with slight amusement that ‘bloodshot’ was no becoming look for Bones’ foggy, blue eyes, as he slowly sipped at his brandy and peeked at the Doctor over the rim of his glass.

They were at it since 1930 and had been rambling about all the mundane things on the Enterprise that had sprung up since their departure from the Mektorian solar system.

The Captain was fully aware of the sneaking glances Bones was throwing him or the way the other man shifted uncomfortably from time to time on his seat – and he enjoyed it. He played along; dancing around the subject with Bones until the Doctor snapped and clunked his empty glass so hard down onto the surface of his desk that Kirk intently peered at it for any cracks.

“Hell, Jim. The suspense is going to kill me, you know!” Bones spat and eyed him warily.

“What is it, Bones?” the Captain said with faked innocence, blinking his hazel eyes at his old friend. He had to hold onto himself in order not to laugh as the man actually _growled_.

“Y’ know, what I mean,” the Doctor said, raising his left hand and wiggling his fingers in Kirk’s direction. “What is it with you and the hobgoblin?”

Kirk slowly sat back in his chair, taking another sip of the brandy and savouring the sharp taste on his tongue, while he stared contemplating off into the corner of the ceiling.

“We have sorted a few things out. He doesn’t avoid me anymore,” he said slowly. Bones sounded exasperated as he exclaimed, “I _know_ that, that’s why I’m asking, you nitwit!”

The Doctor leaned forward in his chair, intently gazing at the slightly younger man.

“You two have ‘sorted a few things out’? You mean you have talked about... _it_?” he said, again gesturing agitatedly towards the Captain, who slightly frowned and threw Bones an annoyed glance.

“No, we haven’t talked about it. As you put it.”

“Then _what_ have you two been talking about?”

Kirk felt strangely reluctant all of a sudden and avoided the gaze of the bloodshot eyes in order to stare down into his glass.

“Just... this and that. He showed me a few things that are currently... bothering him.”

“He showed you things that are ‘bothering’ him? Seriously? We are talking about Spock here, right? Tall, dark and distinctly _Vulcan_? That Spock?” McCoy said, goggling at Kirk like he had grown another head. The Captain threw his CMO a miffed look.

“Yes, _that_ Spock,” he hissed. 

It was like Bones was a shark that had smelled blood in the water. He eagerly shifted forward in his chair. 

“And what did he show y – wait a moment, what do you mean with ‘he showed you’? How can he _show_ you?” 

Kirk gritted his teeth slightly, but answered nonetheless. 

“He melded minds with me.” 

“He did _what_? And you just let him?” Bones gaped at him then muttered ‘I need more booze’, before grabbing the brandy bottle and poured some of it. Kirk straightened his broad shoulders and put his nearly empty glass down on the table. 

_“Hey, what are you insinuating? It’s Spock, for God’s sake. It’s not like he is an enemy or something. He wouldn’t poke around my brain for shits and giggles, you know,” Kirk said indignantly and nodded impatiently when Bones gestured with the bottle towards his glass._

_When it was full once more, he nursed it with both hands, slowly rolling it between his palms in order to warm the liquid._

_“He didn’t know how to say it otherwise. The situation was a bit... heated,” Kirk amended after a few seconds. It sounded nearly defensive. Bones squinted his eyes and asked again, “What is bothering him?”_

_Everything in Kirk seemed to grind to a halt and he shook his head in a jerky, violent motion._

_“I’m not going to tell you, Bones. Sorry. It’s private.”_

_He searched for the foggy, blue eyes and was ready for the explosion; Bones, however, though visibly disappointed, nodded slowly._

_“’kay. Then you’re telling me at least if you two are... ya know...”_

_Again he wiggled his fingers in the direction of his Captain who felt the heat of a blush creep up his neck._

_Spock was slightly surprised to find Lieutenant Uhura still standing in the middle of his quarters, when he came back. She was looking around curiously and peered at all the weapons that were just visible around the corner of the bulkhead that divided the living from the sleeping area._

_“Do you want me to lower the temperature, Lieutenant? I realize that it has to be uncomfortable for your physiology,” he said slowly. He still was not sure why the woman was here and the way she shifted in order to avoid him looking behind her was a little unnerving._

_Uhura’s lips stretched into a smile and she shook her head._

_“No, Mr. Spock. Everything is fine. I’m used to hot temperatures; I was born in Hawaii. It’s a wonderful place – you should visit it sometime, when we’re on shore leave,” she said pleasantly. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, clasping his hands behind his back._

_“I read about it. The flora and fauna seems most interesting. I might just have to take you up on that offer, Lieutenant. Thank you.”_

_Uhura smiled, showing her almost gleaming white teeth and gazed once more towards the sleeping area._

_“And if we ever land again on Vulcan you have to show me all of this fascinating culture, Mr. Spock. I have never seen such interesting weapons. Are they genuine?”_

_“Indeed they are. They are also very old – from the times before Surak has reformed the Vulcan ways.”_

_“That is extraordinary! They are beautiful. Do you know how to handle them?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Can you show me sometime?”_

_He hesitated and again Uhura had the distinct feeling that Spock wasn’t very warm to the idea, but he nodded his head slowly nonetheless._

_“If you wish to. However, it has to wait until I have regained full capacity of my hands. Otherwise it would be too dangerous,” he said a little stiffly and Uhura winced slightly._

_She hadn’t counted on it, but that had been a perfect gateway for why she was standing here in the dry, warm quarters._

_“Mr. Spock,” she began, straightening her posture and looking the taller man right in the suspicious eyes, “ I want to apologize for my appalling behaviour from two nights prior. I – no, please. Let me finish,” she said, when Spock opened his mouth in protest, his whole body tense and the look in the soulful human eyes obviously sad. He subsided and she continued, “I was out of line. I should not have approached you the way I did; and in front of so many other people nonetheless. Furthermore I should not have pressured you into playing your harp. I just wanted everything to be back to normal so badly, that I disregarded your feelings and that is unacceptable. Can you forgive me?”_

_Spock’s lips tightened slightly and his eyes surreptitiously slid away from her gaze, looking over her head. She waited, while he mulled things over and held her breath._

_Finally the Vulcan looked back into her eyes and inclined his head graciously towards her._

_“It would be highly illogical to decline your plea for forgiveness, Lieutenant. After all, we are working together in close quarters and it is highly encouraged to try and avoid all tension between crewmembers.”_

_She blinked at him a few times. It was sometimes hard to understand the true meaning of Mr. Spock’s words, but after a few seconds a smile spread across her features, when she realized he had, in fact, forgiven her._

_“Wonderful! I had hoped you’d be amenable. Nonetheless I have brought this with me in case you were reluctant to accept my –“_

_“A bribe, Lieutenant?” Spock rumbled and the left corner of his mouth curled slightly upwards._

_“ – apology” Uhura finished, throwing him a gaze that was a mixture of exasperation and mischievousness._

_She finally brought her hands and the item she was cradling in them forward and between their bodies. Silence settled over the quarters as Spock gazed without any expression on his face upon it. Uhura cleared her throat nervously suddenly not that sure anymore, if it had been the right decision._

_“There was a huge gash on the wood and I brought it to Mr. Scott so he could mend it. He made a terrific job; there is nothing to see anymore. And a string was torn unfortunately, but I have replaced it, as you can see. I tried to tune it, but I’m not sure if I managed it quite right. Maybe you want to look into that.”_

_She realized that she was rambling and shut her mouth with an audible click. Her hands were shaking as she slowly raised the Vulcan harp she was clutching into the air like an offering – well, it _was_ an offering – towards the silent man. The gaze of the dark, intelligent eyes was so intense that it sent a shudder down her spine._

_‘Please, Mr. Spock. I thought it would be a nice gesture. I didn’t want to humiliate you further...’ she thought desperately, not at all sure if she stumbled across some unspoken rule regarding male pride; just like women occasionally did when they just wanted to be nice._

_Kirk avoided Bones’ gaze and sat back in his chair, while nervously bouncing with his knees. When he realized the ridiculous gesture he hurriedly stopped it and folded his arms instead in front of his chest._

_Bones raised his eyebrows slightly and grinned lopsidedly._

_“Hey. What’s up? One has the right to ask. I mean... Never saw you with a bloke and it’s pretty strange that you’d just shimmy up to Spock now after all this time and – “_

_“Bones...” Kirk growled; there was a distinct warning in his voice and the Doctor abruptly shut his mouth. It wasn’t often that he heard that tone in Kirk’s voice – directed at him, that was._

_He slowly frowned, trying to take in the mood of his friend. Kirk was looking uneasy and unhappy. The Georgian man slowly blew out a breath and rubbed with his free hand over his forehead, while bringing his glass up with the other one for a sip._

_“Aw hell, Jim. I’m no mind reader, you know. What’s bothering you? You and Spock are best buddies like it should be since the beginning of time. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”_

_Kirk was looking down, grinding his teeth together and thinking about what he wanted to say. Bones waited for a whole five seconds before he impatiently griped, “You’re normally not that shy when you brag to me about all your other conquests.”_

_Kirk jerked like he had been slapped right in the face just now and gaped at McCoy who had a calculating look in his bloodshot foggy blue eyes._

_Kirk felt like his stomach was being pulled in two different directions at the same time and an intense tingling started in the nape of his neck and travelled down his spine in order to settle in the small of his back. He felt like his mouth was filled with cotton, when he said, “But that’s just it, Bones. He is not ‘just another conquest’. I... want it to be more with him.”_

_The gaze of the hazel eyes was just so vulnerable in that moment that all the acid comments were dying on Bones’ tongue where they had queued up in order to tease Jim mercilessly._

_The two men were gazing at each other with the solemn appreciation of two best friends. After a while Bones leaned across his desk and shoved Kirk’s glass with the tips of his fingers toward him._

_“Tell me about it, Jim,” he said with a low voice that was nearly unrecognizable because it was all honey and not at all as gruff as usual. For a few seconds the Captain got a stubborn glint in his changeable eyes, but it slowly drained away and left him looking defeated._

_Spock slowly stretched his arms out and seized with care the instrument in the dark hands of the woman, who blew out a silent breath and clasped her hands in front of her stomach, eying the Vulcan with trepidation._

_Spock looked down onto the cherished instrument; it was the only reminder of his home, despite the weapons and his fire idol in the sleeping alcove. He thought about the way he had let it crash to the floor and felt an unfamiliar tightness in his throat._

_The Vulcan cradled the instrument carefully in the crook of his right arm, bringing his left hand up, to carefully and – yes – lovingly strum the harp. The notes filling the room were melodious and perfect. He slowly raised the gaze of his dark eyes towards the anxious woman and inclined his head slightly._

_“Thank you,” he said simply. He knew that he was looking as neutral as ever and wondered, if Uhura even realized the storm she had just set loose inside him. If the bright smile she threw him was anything to go by, then yes... she knew._

_Uhura watched as the Vulcan walked towards a shelf and very carefully set the instrument down upon a little cushion that was laying there. She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on the balls of her feet in order to get some of the euphoria out of her system that had rushed through her suddenly._

_‘Now on to Phase 2...’ she thought and said as casual as she could muster, “I’m happy we could put our differences aside, Mr. Spock. You know I value you very much as a friend. But I should go now and leave you to meditate – that was what you were going to do in that robe, was it not? We will see each other in Alpha shift tomorrow. I’ll have to work on my report for the meeting afterwards regarding our arrival at Tchikon 5. They are quite the fascinating race. We are going to orbit them for a couple days before we depart again in order to bring the party of their ambassador to that conference, do we not? I will enjoy it very much to learn more about their culture first hand.”_

_Spock had been standing with his back towards her, while she talked her head off. She had intently gazed at him and couldn’t suppress the grin when she noticed the stiffening in his posture when she called him ‘friend’._

_It took noticeably longer than usual for the stoic Vulcan to answer her._

_“Indeed, we will be orbiting Tchikon 5 for approximately 52.8 hours. I will look forward to their culture as well. I haven’t had the time as of yet to familiarize myself with their race, so I will be looking forward to your no doubt detailed report tomorrow, Lieutenant Uhura,” he said, while turning around and neatly folding his hands together in front of him. He looked as impassive as ever._

_Uhura made like she was going to leave, but turned around again and said innocently, “Did you know that the people on Tchikon hold balance in how they reign, in the highest regard? Usually the King or Queen marries one of their best tacticians in order to ensure that their people are ruled not only with militaristic wisdom but also with passion.” She grinned mischievously. “It would be like if you and the Captain married.” She feigned laughing at the mental picture and waved at the First Officer._

_“Good night, Mr. Spock!”_

_“Good night, Lieutenant,” Spock said with great dignity. Uhura left and grinned widely in the hallway; if the hugely dilated eyes weren’t telling the whole story, than the slight blush that had crept up to the tips of Spock’s ears said more than thousand words._

_Her mirth, however, subsided quickly as she thought, ‘Well... isn’t _that_ bad timing?’_

_“I haven’t seen him so much as bat an eyelash at anyone, Bones. He never expressed any interest in someone – female _or_ male. Only when there was some kind of pressure involved like these spores or the mission with the Romulans...” Kirk paused, his brow furrowing as he contemplated what he had just said. And wasn’t that thought totally twisted? Every time Spock seemed to have been involved in anything remotely sexual it had been under some kind of outside influence and pressure. Kirk didn’t notice it, but he went slightly green around the nose. Bones just looked at him, waiting for his friend and Captain to finish what he was saying._

_Kirk shook himself slightly and continued, “Well, as I said; he never seemed to be interested, Bones. I never saw him as a... sexual being. And now he got – “ He faltered but threw his shoulders backwards and soldiered on, “And now he got raped. I don’t know how to approach him. Every scenario in my head seems pretty tactless. I’m not even sure if I’d like anything physical with a man. Maybe I’m just really confused and as soon as I get my hands on him I realize that I’d rather bed a porcupine or something.”_

_The gaze he threw McCoy was blatantly searching for help. The CMO slowly blew out a breath and sat heavily back in his chair, eying his friend._

_“Well. This is... hm,” he murmured, while clasping the arms of his chair as if for support. Jesus, he had no answers to the questions Jim was asking him. Were there even answers? He doubted it. These were deeply psychological questions and McCoy was maybe no psychiatrist, but he knew enough of the subject in order to tell that every problem was unique and there wasn’t a patented cure-all for that._

_“Jim. Be rational. You are worrying about something that is not likely to happen in the near future. You two haven’t even spoken about... whatever that is between you. You don’t even know if Spock _likes_ you that way. It will be a pretty moot point if he tells you that he isn’t, well... inclined that way,” the Doctor said. He knew he could’ve put the words more delicately, but he wasn’t really in the mood to baby the Captain right now. He drank another sip of his drink, while Jim looked contemplating off to one side._

_After a long moment he nodded a few times. It was on the tip of Bones’ tongue to ask to what conclusion he had come, but he restrained himself._

_Kirk downed the rest of his brandy and slowly got up from his chair._

_“Thanks, Bones. I needed that. Especially since I have another meeting tomorrow,” Kirk said, pulling a slight grimace. Bones frowned and but his hands behind his head, slightly tipping his chair backward._

_“You still at it with that Alpha shift meetings?” he asked and continued confused, “Why do you still go if you don’t want to?”_

_Kirk got that silent, contemplating look again and straightened, donning his Captain persona and sliding the chair neatly back under the table._

_“Because, dear Doctor McCoy, I owe it to them. And it does me good, even if I don’t like it.”_

_He turned around, walking towards the door and throwing his hand upwards._

_“G’night, Bones.”_

_The Doctor just grunted and stared for half an hour at the closed door._

_“Captain Kirk! It is such an honour to finally meet you – even if it is only through a video feed. I hope your journey has been a pleasant one?”_

_The Enterprise has been orbiting Tchikon 5 for only a few minutes and so Kirk was pleasantly surprised that the leader of the race that called themselves Archnids was already contacting him._

_Lieutenant Uhura had told them all in yesterday’s meeting that they would probably have a very pleasant stay with the Archnids. They were very intelligent and gentle beings – not unlike Vulcans. However, they were way more indulgent in their emotions – even if they would struggle from time to time to understand these ‘quirky humans’._

_Uhura had made it quite clear that the Archnids would totally adore all of them. Humans, apparently, were very amusing and interesting to them._

_He had been a little put out by that mental image. The Captain of a Starship – and especially if that Captain was James T. Kirk – did not want to be viewed as some kind of... exotic pet or something. But looking at the Archnidian leader now, Kirk had to admit, that they in return were very fascinating._

_Tall and slender, they had two sets of arms and big compound eyes that gave them the appearance of great insects. The eyes of the Archnid currently talking to him were of a pleasing turquoise colour and on the pale lips he had a broad, honest smile._

_Two thin antennae were poking out of the fringe of his blond hair and were slightly twitching from time to time._

_“The pleasure is all ours, your Highness. We are currently preparing rooms for the ambassador and his party and would like to know, if anything – “_

_The king extended the upper pair of his arms wide in a welcoming gesture._

_“Oh no, no, Captain! Please! Don’t talk of business now. You are first our guests. I have arranged a little... ah... celebration. My wife and I, as well as the prince and princess who will be accompanying you on your journey would be delighted if you could attend to it, in... say... four hours time?” The king beamed at him, quickly blinking with eyelids that were so thin that the turquoise of his eyes was shining through them._

_Kirk blinked a few times and had to clear his throat. He hadn’t been expecting an invitation to a little... celebration. Whatever that meant._

_“We would not want to force ourselves upon you, your Highness...” he mumbled, while mulling over if it would be a good idea to accept._

_The Archnid brought his lower hands together into a loud clap and shook his head wildly._

_“You would not! Please, take a few of your women and men and come down to us. We would be so delighted to host you for the evening and night and to listen to all the exciting stories you humans have – without a doubt – to tell,” he exclaimed with such childish glee in his narrow, delicate face, that Kirk found his mouth saying, “If it is so, we will accept gladly, your Highness.” before his brain registered it clearly._

_He sat stunned in his chair while the King laughed happily and said something about ‘clothing and transportation coordinates’ being delivered._

_As soon as the beaming face vanished from the screen, Kirk slowly rotated in his chair looking at his silent crew around him._

_“What on earth has just happened?” he asked a bit dazedly._

_Uhura’s lips twitched._

_“I think you have just been successfully charmed, Captain,” she chirped and turned back towards the Communication’s Console; the transportation coordinates seemed to be transmitted._

_Kirk shook his head slowly and shoved his hand through his golden hair, daring a look towards Spock. The Vulcan was standing at his station with his customary tranquil face. However, the expression in the chocolate eyes was one of deep contemplation._

_Kirk tilted his head askance slightly to the side. Spock only raised his eyebrow and whirled away towards the readings of his computer._

_Had Kirk seen a secret smile on the deliciously curved lips? Hmm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phase 1: Make them gay.  
> Phase 2: ????  
> Phase 3: Profit!
> 
> ... Uhura you fox :P


	19. Chapter 19

Kirk was gazing at himself in the mirror, as his comm. unit piped up. A slow and utterly unsurprised grin spread across his face as he heard Bones’ gruff voice growl through the speaker.

“I can’t go.”

“And why is that?” he answered and slightly shifted to the side in order to get a look as to how his behind was looking in the colourful tunic he was currently wearing.

“They forgot to deliver underwear with this... dress,” the Doctor spat through the speaker. Kirk’s smile got – if possible – even bigger.

“Oh, they did not forget, Bones. Trust me,” he murmured. He thought these Greek-style tunics were rather comfortable. They were very eye catching with the bright yellow, orange and red colours and the fabric was smooth and light so as to not cause the wearer to sweat because they were elaborately wrapped around the body. It left his muscular arms bare and allowed a glimpse of the smooth expanse of his pectorals. The only thing Kirk wasn’t quite sure about was the... ah... skirt, that ended a few inches above his knees. He threw a critical look towards his thickly muscled legs that were dusted with wiry hair that was so light one didn’t really see it. Instead of the elaborately wounded sandals of the Greeks, however, he wore very simple ones that weren’t even closed anywhere. One just... slipped into them. Strange.

He was brought out of his own contemplation – and he had to admit he looked good in the garments – by an exasperated Bones who had obviously shuffled through the fabric in his own possession.

“You mean that thing is no bandana?” the Doctor positively screeched. Kirk sighed and rubbed over his eyes. It was going to be a long day, if Bones decided to be _that_ way.

 

Kirk strutted into the teleportation room like a King, his head held high and a tilt to his pale lips that was daring anyone to say anything against the colourful tunic he was wearing. Bones scurried after him into the room. His craggy face expressing rather eloquently what he thought of this get up. And really – it was a bit unfair to have him standing beside the golden, toned body of one Captain James T. Kirk. Everyone would be looking pale against the confident slant of broad shoulders and –

Kirk caught sight of Spock and his mouth suddenly went dry. His First Officer was standing to one side, his face perfectly unreadable and yet his rigid posture practically screamed his discomfort out for the whole world to see. The Vulcan’s tunic wasn’t in yellows and reds, but rather it was glowing in blues and greens, complementing the pale, olive tinged skin. Kirk got a glimpse of silky, black chest hair and long, lean runner’s legs and forced himself to look away.

He cleared his throat and went over to Scotty who stood behind his consoles with a confused and slightly amused expression.

“Are we ready to beam down?” Kirk said with as much authority as he could muster, while his heart tried to leap out of his mouth.

“Aye, sir. As soon as Lieutenant Uhura and Ensign Chekov arrive, that is,” the Chief Engineer said dutifully and lowered his gaze quickly towards the dials on the console. Kirk grumbled and turned back around towards Bones who looked like he had bitten into a lemon. He found his gaze repeatedly wandering back towards Spock who hadn’t said a word up until now.

Perhaps he should go and talk to him? His feet wouldn’t budge, though. He was doomed to gaze as surreptitiously as possible at the tall, regal looking alien.

‘He looks like one of those Greek statues...’ Kirk thought almost admiringly, while his eyes wandered over lean arms that were deceptively strong and up to a face that seemed to fit perfectly to the ancient get up with its long, fine bone structure. It took a moment for the Captain to realize, however, that the dark eyes were fixed directly at him.

One smooth, black eyebrow slowly rose upward and made the human feel like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

Nevertheless, he would not be him, if he did not retaliate in kind, shooting Spock one of his most arrogant and cockiest grins. The Vulcan quickly looked away and clasped his hands behind his back.

They were spared further interaction by the entrance of both Lieutenant Uhura and Ensign Chekov. The latter looking distinctly embarrassed and the former looking stunning in a long, flowing dress of the same striking colours as Kirk’s.

“Well... let the party begin!” the Captain exclaimed, while clapping his hands together and watching Spock out of the corner of his eyes. The Vulcan didn’t seem very happy but said nothing.

 

Their arrival upon Tchikon 5 had been met by enthusiastic Archnids that were almost bouncing up and down in their eagerness to get a glimpse of the humans – and one Vulcan. They were swarmed by a whole sea of slender bodies and big compound eyes that were glowing in every imaginable colour.

A low buzzing filled the moderately sized room they had teleported inside and it took Kirk a moment to realize that it was emanating from two pair of translucent wings every one of the Archnids had sprouting out of its back. They were rubbing them together in their excitement, which created the low chirping sound.

The grin on Kirk’s face got a little strained as he tried getting a glimpse of someone with authority who could rescue them from this lively nest of friendly hornets.

‘At least they were raised properly. Only looking, not touching,’ he thought, while throwing Spock a surreptitious glance. The Vulcan was standing stoically behind him and in front of Ensign Chekov, gazing straight ahead with a look on his face as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Kirk, however, thought that it was no coincidence that Spock was found wedged between the two humans and securely as far away from the hordes of excited Archnids as possible.

He caught the gaze of dark, chocolate eyes that were looking distinctly perturbed and threw him a soothing smile – at least he hoped the spastic tugging at the corners of his mouth was translated into a soothing smile.

“Captain Kirk!” boomed a voice, instantly silencing the buzzing and the voices around them. Kirk turned back and raised his arms in welcome upon recognizing the King of the Archnids walking towards him through the parting crowd of curious creatures.

“Your Highness,” he murmured and was a little overwhelmed by two hands seizing one of his and shaking them enthusiastically, while a pair of other hands was clapping him on the shoulders.

The turquoise eyes of the King blinked at him, while he said, “This is the way your people greet, is it not? Very interesting, very interesting! May I introduce my wife, Queen Lika – “ He still held Kirk’s hand in a fast grip, while he turned and gestured with the upper pair of arms towards a stunningly beautiful woman behind him. She was delicate and her eyes were of a deep, blue colour. Her beautifully carved face looked highly intelligent and strong willed, giving Kirk a fleeting expression of whom ‘wore the trousers’, so to speak. She inclined her head that was sporting an elaborate high hairdo, but before either of them could say a word her exuberant husband prattled on “And these are my children. Prince Krohk and Princess Klena, both of whom are going to be part of the delegation to the conference.”

He gestured towards the two exquisite creatures standing behind their mother. Her daughter, Princess Klena was as beautiful and delicate as her mother with glowing, orange eyes that were fixed wildly blinking on the Captain, while the Prince looked more sturdy with wary blue eyes that were watching the newcomers with noticeable distrust.

‘Someone isn’t as happy to see us as the rest,’ Kirk thought, while he shot the two women a dazzling smile and pried his hand out of the death grip of the King and bowed deeply.

“It is an honour!” he intoned, eliciting amused laughter from some of the Archnids around that were intently listening to everything being said. He turned around, nearly bumping into Spock in the process and made an encompassing gesture towards the little group.

“These are First Officer Spock, our CMO Doctor McCoy, our Communication’s Officer Lieutenant Uhura and Ensign Chekov. They all begged me for the opportunity to come down and greet you and so I brought them,” he said and quickly turned back towards the King after he registered the dual death glares from Bones and Spock. The King, however, seemed not to notice. His antennae twitched excitedly as he bent towards the side, getting a good look at the stoic Vulcan.

“That’s no human,” he murmured perplex and then a little louder towards Spock, “You are no human, good Sir. Spock, isn’t it? May I ask you to which race you belong?” the King wanted to step towards the dark haired man, but the arm of his wife shot out of the folds of her colourful dress; her hand gripped his slender arm with enough force to make him wince slightly.

Her voice as she spoke was as lovely as her face. She was polite, but direct, “You have asked our guests enough, husband. Let them come in and take a seat at our table. They’re here to be fed and watered; not to be gawked at and handled like precious wildlife.”

She shot a stern look around and the onlookers seemed to be shrinking back, murmuring and scuttling away like little children. The Queen slowly let the arm of her husband go and curtseyed towards the group of baffled humans.

“Please excuse us. We are too curious and humans are always a source of happiness for our race,” she intoned gravely, before gesturing with both elegant arms towards the high archway that was leading out of the teleportation room.

“Please follow us to the banquet hall and don’t hesitate to ask one of the servants if you find anything lacking.”

Her strong, quiet authority was like a bastion of calm next to the childlike exuberance of her husband. Kirk only nodded slightly, a little thrown off his game by all this strange new impressions.

 

While walking through bright and friendly looking halls, Uhura sidled nonchalantly up to the Vulcan who was walking with a stiff back and his hands clenched at his side. She waited until she noticed the glimmering of his eyes upon her, then she murmured, “Guess we know, who of the two has been the militaristic tactician. But you have to admit: the balance between them is brilliant, is it not?”

Spock remained stoically silent and Uhura already wanted to slip away again, when she heard a silent, low rumbling from the alien to her right, “Indeed it seems very... beneficial to their people as well as to the both of them.”

A slow smile spread across her face as she followed the gaze of the shy, dark eyes towards the insect like creatures in front of their little group; the King had one arm draped around the shoulders of his Queen and playfully rubbed her back with another arm, while she regally walked beside him and brushed one hand every now and again against the bare skin of his leg. They were looking tranquil and happy.

 

Bones was watching Jim across the table. The Captain seemed to be in his element: bragging and laughing and grinning deliciously at the Queen and her daughter from time to time, making the latter blush increasingly brighter.

They were sitting on huge, comfortable cushions on the floor; in front of them a long table that was crowded with all sorts of dishes and drinks. Everywhere were bright, juicy fruits – no meat in sight. He had already eaten his load until the sweetness had overwhelmed him and now he was just silently shaking his head, while observing his Captain telling a story to the fascinated King about their travels around the universe.

It was not the fact that Kirk was exaggerating or anything that was so amusing that it kept McCoy’s attention throughout the light-hearted dinner – the Captain didn’t need to exaggerate. Their antics were phenomenal enough without adding the unthinkable – but rather the fact that sooner or later he always seemed to be coming back to his First Officer in each story like a good dog fetching a ball.

True, Spock had been an essential factor in all of their adventures, but the way Kirk spoke of him was – at least for someone who knew of their budding romance – positively adoring.

Bones let his gaze wander towards the Vulcan First Officer, who sat opposite the Captain and was looking intently at his plate, trying with all his might to fade into the background.

The Queen had been trying her very best but it hadn’t lasted long until her husband – and to McCoy’s surprise their son – had cornered the wary Vulcan through the appetiser and started asking questions; first and foremost about _what_ he was.

A blind man could’ve seen how uncomfortable Spock was with the excited alien’s attention upon him, for the King was sitting to his left on the head of the table and the Prince directly to his right.

Now that he thought about it, it had been around that time that Kirk had started his slightly too loud monologue about the adventures of the Enterprise, effectively drawing the attention of the King upon him.

‘Huh. Jim, you sly bastard,’ McCoy thought and sipped at the sweet wine he had, while watching as the Prince bent close to the Vulcan, whispering something in one pointed ear. The alien not quite recoiled but leaned in a very obvious avoidance reaction sideways and away from the Archnid, before he answered. From the way Spock’s lips nearly didn’t move at all, McCoy could guess that he was on the very edge of his tolerance levels. The Doctor shook his head slightly; he didn’t feel that much concern. Spock needed to come back out of his shell and the sooner the better. A little shock therapy would do him good.

McCoy looked away, while the Prince said something again – seemingly determined in ensnaring the reluctant Vulcan into a conversation – and caught the dark eyes of Uhura who was sitting opposite of him.

He raised his eyebrows askance and she jerked her chin towards the head of the table and their two commanding Officers. He just shrugged and smiled at her with the charm of a Georgian country Doctor, while shoving a few grapes – at least he thought they were grapes – upon her plate. She huffed exasperatedly but smiled nonetheless, before eating a grape and involving herself into another conversation with the little lady right next to her who was asking so many endearing questions about human society that it even lightened McCoy’s perpetually dark mood a little.

 

Kirk was standing with the King chatting animatedly and sipping at his wine. He had never met a ruler as relaxed and approachable as this specimen and it stroked Kirk’s ego immensely to speak to him; it seemed that the guy cherished every word dripping from the lips of the Captain. It was like a drug.

Add to that the fact that the beautiful Princess never seemed far away, silently adoring him and he already was planning if they could somehow come back to this planet for some shore leave in the future.

He was throwing Princess Klena another delicious smile just to hear her giggle an see a delicate blush spread across her pale face, while slowly and lazily sweeping a look across all the people in the banquet hall. He could not hope to guess how long they had been down here now, but the sky outside was dark and a huge moon was illuminating the fields, that were visible, beautifully.

The Archnids all were fair haired and so it was no hardship to find the dark heads of his crew.

Ensign Chekov was dancing with one of the girls in an almost intimate embrace; Lieutenant Uhura was sitting at the far end surrounded by a gaggle of Archnids that were rapturously listening to whatever she was saying; Bones was – where was Bones? Kirk had to do another swipe of the crowd before he saw the CMO standing off to the side, a glass in his hand and talking to another male Archnid. His face was serious and intent – a sign, Kirk knew, that he was mightily amused.

And Spock was... standing also off to the side by one of the large windows that were overlooking the skilfully made fields surrounding the palace. He was talking to Prince Krohk who was standing a little too close to the Vulcan – at least for Kirk’s liking.

Spock’s back was not only straight, but seemed stiff and tense and he did his best to look down on the Prince, which was a little hard to do since Krohk was as tall as the Vulcan.

“Hmm,” Kirk said noncommittal as the King spoke to him. He didn’t really listen to the man as he watched Krohk taking a step closer to Spock, raising one of his left arms and letting it slide along the bare arm of the Vulcan. Spock jerked backwards, taking a resolute step back and slightly shaking his head. Kirk straightened with a jolt, his hand cramping around the wineglass he was holding, while watching as the Prince tilted his head in an obviously apologetic gesture while stepping closer once again.

“Your First Officer Spock,” the voice of the King cut through Kirk’s observation of the scene. Spock’s name ringing out to him and causing his attention to immediately snap back towards the Archnid who was smiling genially at him.

“What about him?” he said a little more gruff than he intended to and hastily murmured a, “Your Highness...”

The large compound eyes were glittering in mirth and he tilted his head towards Kirk.

“You spoke a lot of him. He is very intelligent, is he not?” he asked, playing with the ends of the broad belt that was holding the tunic together. Kirk blinked a few times, unaware as to what that question had to do with anything.

“He is unbelievably intelligent. Never saw a guy smarter than him,” he said, quite aware of how his chest seemed to swell in pride. The Queen, who had been rather reserved and aloof the whole evening was suddenly at the side of her husband. Her pretty face serious and the huge compound eyes watching Kirk. The human felt a chill running down his spine at the enigmatic gaze; he felt like an insect trapped under the gaze of a scientist.

“I heard what you said about him. Very admirable. As you can see, Krohk has taken quite a liking to him,” the King said, gesturing towards the scene at the window; while Kirk hadn’t been looking, the two had moved yet again further away from the window; they were partly concealed by one of the pillars in the room now. Furthermore the Captain realized that the King didn’t even need to turn in the direction of the two although they were almost standing behind him. The fact that their eyes obviously weren’t just there for decorative purposes was suddenly glaringly obvious.

The human got a little uneasy, though before he could answer the King’s observation, the man prattled on, “Krohk is currently looking for a mate. Don’t you think your First Officer would be amenable to his advances? This Vulcan race seems very fascinating. I am sure he would be a great addition to the royal family and – “

“Wait just a moment!” Kirk exclaimed alarmed. He had been staring at the King with large, uncomprehending eyes. It had taken a little too long for his liking to fully process the sudden change of subject and his response had been so heated that the music in the hall stopped for but a moment, heads swivelling around to them.

Kirk felt himself blushing and forced a smile upon his face that had to be looking as strained as it felt for the King was gazing rather concerned at him.

“Captain, what – “ he begun, but was yet again interrupted – this time by his wife, who put a delicate hand upon one of his upper arms and stood on tiptoe, whispering in his ear. Although they had no pupils Kirk had the uneasy feeling that she was still intently watching him. Suddenly he didn’t think these compound eyes as beautifully endearing as before.

Kirk felt alternately hot and ice cold and sweat was breaking out between his shoulder blades. What exactly was going on here? The evening had been a blast and never in all his talks with the King had the man alluded to anything regarding courtship or marriage. Had he been lured into some kind of strange trap? While he still wrecked his brain for any previous conversations that would have alluded to this strange turn of events, the smiling face of the King fell and was replaced by an expression full of dismay.

“Captain Kirk!” he hissed, breaking loose from the grip of his solemn wife and seizing Kirk’s arms with his four hands. He drew him further back towards one of the pillars – his wife following in measured strides. Kirk was blinking rapidly and confused.

He noticed his head was swimming from all the sweet alcohol he had imbibed; noticed how tired he was due to the late hour; and noticed that the excited demeanour of the King and the other Archnids was slowly but surely grating on his nerves. They were nice – but only for so long.

“What is it?” he therefore said a little more aggressively than he would have liked and extricated himself from the grip of the four hands.

“You should have said something. I would have arranged other accommodations and – oh dear,” the King murmured clearly unhappy. Kirk blew out a slow breath, eying the man with a patience he didn’t feel anymore. He just wanted to tell the man in a polite but resolute manner that he did not know what he was talking about and that he should start making sense if he didn’t want Kirk to explode like one of these ancient Chinese firecrackers, as Queen Lika took the conversation over once more.

She stepped in front of her husband, holding her four hands up in a peaceful gesture.

“Excuse me, Captain Kirk. My husband is not yet as fluent in understanding the concept of the human behaviour and mind as I would like him to be. Please let me explain.”

The King shut his mouth and serenely folded his four hands in front of him. He had a tranquil expression on his face – seemingly not bothered in the slightest that his Queen had not-so-subtly reprimanded him.

Kirk deflated minutely and nodded.

“Please do.”

“As my husband said, our son is currently looking for a spouse. He seems to have taken a liking to your First Officer and we thought it wise to ask you as his commanding Officer if there was any chance in... ah... obtaining him. However, we had not taken in consideration that he probably wasn’t even... free for the taking.”

Her huge eyes blinked up towards Kirk, who just stared back at her, not comprehending what all this was about. His hackles had risen as she talked of ‘obtaining’ Spock or his being ‘free for the taking’ and he had to consciously remain calm, therefore his brain was slightly.. preoccupied. Kirk had to actively remind himself of the fact that he was in an alien culture and that it was very likely they didn’t want to sound disrespectful. He slowly drew in a breath.

“...What do you want?” he asked finally.

“Mr. Spock and you are... an item?” she delicately asked, tilting her head to one side and gazing up at him.

Heat instantly poured through his body and he choked on his own spit, suddenly coughing and wheezing.

What was _wrong_ with these people? Jesus! Where did these strange mental leaps come from? (Only later that night would it come to him that he had probably worn his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see and that the Archnids maybe were very quirky but that they still were also highly intelligent beings.)

Right now he just wanted to scream that – no! – they were _no_ item. However, his brain kicked back in gear and that sneaky voice that often spoke to him during missions said, ‘What about it? Tell them you are an item. Then they will leave Spock alone. You leave the planet in two days time, bring the party of the ambassador to the conference planet and be on your way. No one needs to know; no harm done! And you help Spock with his unwanted admirer...’

He closed his mouth with a loud snap, the hazel eyes slowly drifting towards Spock. He couldn’t see much of the man, but the slight crease between his slanted eyebrows told more eloquently than anything else how close to the breaking point he was regarding the young Prince who seemed to be very determined in whatever he was just telling him.

“Yes. Yes we are. I would appreciate it, if you weren’t planning on marrying him off.”

Kirk blinked slightly as he realized that the deep, confident voice had been his. His gut clenched slightly and a deep prickling made its way from the nape of his neck down his spine in order to settle at the small of his back.

While her husband looked rather disappointed, the Queen nodded with a sympathetic look on her face.

“I understand, Captain Kirk. Please excuse the misunderstanding. I will immediately arrange every changes that are to be made,” she said gravely, bowing deeply before him.

Kirk watched dazedly as she scurried off, dragging her daughter from one of the nearby tables and whispering something in her ear. The shocked, crestfallen look the young woman shot him told him exactly what her mother had told her just now.

Kirk got the sinking feeling that he had made a very bad decision right now, while he watched the beautiful creature sidling up towards her brother and whispering something in his ear.

The Prince’s spine snapped as straight as a board and he whipped around, his blue eyes piercing Kirk with an intense – no... hateful – stare, before stomping away, his sister following, concern on her delicately carved features.

The Captain dared a peek towards Spock, but the Vulcan was just looking confused. At least he thought that that was the dear-in-the-headlights look (Vulcan version); he couldn’t tell from this distance.

‘Wonderful... I made the King unhappy, his daughter is devastated because I’m such a flirt and his son probably wants to throttle me the next time he sees me. And I have to embark onto a journey with the latter two. Not your smartest move, Kirk,’ he thought glumly, slowly clasping his hands together behind his back and watching as Spock discreetly faded into the background in order to lick his wounds.

‘At least _somebody_ has benefitted from it. Even if he doesn’t know it.’

Kirk drew a deep breath and rubbed his tired eyes.

“Excuse me, your Highness; but when can I expect to retire?”

“My wife will have everything arranged in due time. If you could just be patient a little longer, Captain? Maybe we could sit down and watch the dance. You seem fatigued. I hope you are not too upset due to our misunderstanding. I hadn’t intended any disrespect for you or your mate. Shall I go and apologize to him as well?” the King said, clear concern on his face, while his antennae twitched agitatedly. Kirk, who had let himself being led towards the cushions near the dance floor, felt his stomach plummet and icy dread coursed through his veins.

“No!” he exclaimed and when he realized that it had been unduly forceful, he smiled tremulously at the King and let himself down on the sitting cushion – his legs were trembling and he wasn’t that sure that they would hold him longer anyway. “No. No harm is done. I will... ah... explain it to him later.”

The King nodded serenely, while he plopped down beside him and let himself be absorbed by the exuberant dancing going on. Kirk could only muster a weak smile when he spotted Chekov and Uhura between the jumping and contorting bodies. When he caught Bones’ concerned gaze he suddenly got aware of how strange the whole affaire must have looked for an outsider and heat wanted to creep up his neck once more. He just shook his head slowly in the direction of his old friend and let his broad shoulders slump a little.

‘I want in my bed,’ he thought dejectedly.

 

Despite that he let himself be immersed into the dancing and was quite startled when one of the Queens delicate hands landed on his bare shoulder.

“Captain, I have arranged your quarters. Do you want to retire?” she asked gravely, intently watching his slightly strained face. He shot her a thankful smile.

“Yes, I would appreciate that,” he murmured and fought to regain his feet. He was not used to this open footwear and it had tired his legs more than he had expected. He tugged a little nervously at the hem of his tunic – he was a little paranoid of the skirt – and looked tiredly around.

“What of my crew?”

“They will be shown to their rooms when they’re tired,” she answered, clasping her four hands in front of her and waiting patiently for the Captain to regain his equilibrium.

Kirk, ever protective of the ones under his care, first sought out every dark head in the room in order to make sure that they still were fine with everything. However, he only saw three of them.

“Where is Mr. Spock?” he said alarmed, turning towards the Queen. She tilted her head slightly to the side.

“He has already gone to bed. One of the servants has shown him the way only a few moments ago,” she answered solemnly. Kirk deflated.

“Oh. Right,” he murmured. He felt inexorably hurt that Spock would just up and leave without a word to him.

‘Get a grip on yourself, Kirk. You behave like a little girl with a crush. Spock’s a grown man and these people are clearly no threat.’

He bade a good night to the King, before nodding towards Queen Lika and following her out of the room. They were walking quietly side by side and the silence was music to his ears; that surprised him, for normally he actively sought for everything loud and filled with people.

‘I am changing after all...’ he thought and felt a little forlorn suddenly; alone in these empty hallways on an alien planet with their Queen.

‘Their _beautiful_ Queen,’ he thought wondrously, ‘And I’m not talking my head off, trying to get into her pants... Huh.’

“I hope I have not... totally alienated the Prince and Princess,” he said at last into the silence. The Queen did not turn her head, but he had the feeling that she was looking at him intently anyway.

“They just have to live with it, Captain. Life is not fair and it is best if they learn it sooner rather than later. I fear that the long period of peace has let my husband to overly indulge them. They have never felt the need of a battle. I hope it will never arise, but nonetheless...” She paused for a few seconds and then said more subdued, “Even battle has it’s positive outcomes.”

He contemplated what she had been saying, his brow slightly furrowing.

“One of them sooner or later will be the ruler of your people. Won’t it be better if they are only taught compassion and kindness?” he said slowly.

“It certainly seems so. But there is more to a leader than just compassion and kindness, Captain Kirk. One has to be strong and needs the will to fight for his or her people. They need to feel the fiery blaze of their ruler’s hard determination and sometimes they need to feel his whip in order to be assured that he still can protect them. It is the reason why we seek a partner that compliments our nature. We realize that one can not be sufficient enough. It takes two in order to form a whole, well-balanced being.”

Kirk felt decidedly surreal, having this conversation with the woman beside him. Especially since he had had a similar conversation with Spock only a couple of weeks prior. Yet this new perspective was fascinating; he fell into a thoughtful silence and the Queen did not speak up again.

They were quiet until her strides grew slower; she finally came to a halt and extended one of he arms gracefully in order to point to a door.

“Your quarters for the night, Captain. I hope you have found satisfaction at our table and I deeply regret the way we unintentionally have dishonoured you and your mate,” she said gravely, holding up the delicate hands of her lower set of arms and slightly folding them together. Kirk needed a few seconds until he realized what was being expected from him; he swiftly raised his arms and enfolded her little hands into his rough worker’s hands.

“As you have said: It was unintentional. There is nothing to forgive. Please don’t worry too much,” he said with sincerity and a gentleness that surprised himself; he was never one for seeing a woman cry or grieve. It struck a cord deep within him that made him feel distinctly uneasy. Nevertheless, he did not see himself as a very gentle man. A kind one – on occasions – yes, but never gentle. Not like Mr. Spock.

‘And there go my thoughts again toward him...’

She smiled and rubbed her translucent wings together until a soothing trilling sound surrounded them.

“You are too kind, Captain Kirk. Thank you.”

She gently extricated her hands out of his grip and took a step backward.

“May I just tell you that you and your mate seem to have chosen very wisely? You seem to complement each other tremendously. Your crew can be very fortunate to have you both as leaders to watch over them. Very fortunate indeed. Good night, Captain.”

“Good... night,” he murmured; something seemed to be stuck in his throat all of a sudden and he had to swallow a few times in order to dislodge it, while he watched her retreating back down the hallway.

He entered his quarters for the night.

 

There were no lights lit in the room other than the silvery one streaming in through the huge windows. Kirk could clearly see comfortable looking furniture not unlike what they were used as humans and a slow smile spread across his face, when he saw a bed standing at one wall. It wasn’t overly large, but he suspected that it was designed with two people in mind anyway. Not surprising when he looked at how slender the Archnids were.

He slowly made his way over towards it, slipping out of the odd sandals on his way, but he was stopped in his track by a sudden voice curling itself around him. A deep, silky baritone voice.

“Captain?”

Kirk whipped around, one hand automatically going for his phaser that was not at his hip, while the other still clutched at the belt of the colourful fabric that he had just been in the process of unravelling.

“...Spock?” he said a little dumbfounded, as he finally could identify the tall shadow, that stood right beside a glass door that led to a balcony. His First Officer slowly stepped forward into the silver light streaming inside. Kirk could see that the dark eyebrows were drawn together in a rare display of clear confusion.

“What are you doing here?” Kirk gaped and slowly righted his clothing again. He did not walk towards the other man; somehow the furniture – consisting out of a couch and a few blobs that looked like they were beanbag chairs – made him feel a little more grounded in reality, while his heart started beating a staccato in his chest.

Spock, his hands neatly clasped behind his back, inclined his head slightly.

“I could ask you the same, Captain. I have been shown to this quarters for the night,” the Vulcan intoned, slightly rotating his head from side to side and taking in their surroundings. “So I am somewhat at a loss as to why you are suddenly entering them – uninvited no less.”

Kirk took in the slightly stiff stance of the Vulcan and narrowed his eyes for but a fraction; all the little hair on his arms slowly rising to attention.

“I have been shown this quarters just now by the Queen, Spock. I thought I was alone. Don’t you worry, I had no ulterior motives in mind,” he said slowly, straightening his shoulders. Spock winced – nearly unnoticeable, but he did.

“It was not my intention to...”

“I know.”

Awkward silence settled about them. Kirk intently trying to watch all the emotional nuances in the dark, glittering eyes across the room. It was nearly impossible in the darkness surrounding them.

“Why were we shown the same rooms?” Spock said quietly. His dark voice filling the room with an ease that Kirk had never before noticed. It seemed like he was starting to view the other man in a different light, now that he had begun really paying attention to the silent, gentle creature.

His sleep and alcohol foggy brain took way too long to process what he had been asked and his stomach suddenly plunged right through the floor.

Oh, he could make an educated guess why that had happened... Though he could not tell Spock. He avoided the gaze of the intelligent eyes that were of the colour of the dark void right now and crossed his arms behind his back, gripping his own forearms with a bruising force.

“No idea. Probably an error.”

Spock tilted his head slightly – minutely – and Kirk started feeling suddenly like one of the Vulcan’s specimen. He did not envy them. The Vulcan spoke slowly, “Then I shall fetch someone to remedy the situation, Captain. The Archnids seem like very understanding people and I am sure that they won’t mind me bringing an error to their attention.”

Kirk inwardly groaned and closed his eyes while listening to slow and steady steps that were regally striding through the room.

His thoughts were racing around, chasing each other inside his head and the man who could think the most brilliant plans on the fly, had to experience his utter failure to come up with any plausible explanation that would save his sorry behind.

The steps were dangerously close to the door now.

“Wait! You can’t!” he squawked just as a slight lull in the footsteps told of Spock raising his arm in order to open the door.

Kirk did not turn around towards him but he felt the stare of the predatory gaze upon his back. _Physically_ felt it, like a fingertip or rather a fingernail slowly being scratched down his spine. His breathing got faster.

“And why is that?” Spock asked and Kirk wondered how a voice could be so utterly devoid of emotion and yet slowly wind itself around him and elicit a most curious flipping sensation deep in his gut.

The Captain snapped his eyes open with a silent gasp and let his head fall back into his neck, while his fingernails were digging painfully into his own flesh.

He had lost. And what’s more: He knew that Spock had seen right through him. At least to some extent. The whole walk towards the door had been too predictably slow and the question too calm and precisely pronounced.

Kirk felt like a fool for underestimating the fierce intelligence of this being. Hadn’t he even felt that intelligence? That burning, unholy presence as Spock had shown him his demons? And yet he had somehow thought he could get away with this stupid game of cat-and-mouse.

‘Well... he _is_ a panther, after all,’ he thought and swallowed in order to moisten his dry throat.

“Well, it would cause some... awkward questions at the least. Just let it go, Spock. For once, please,” the Captain said. When no answer was forthcoming, he slowly turned around and eyed Spock warily. The face of the Vulcan was plunged into darkness. He stood perfectly still at the door and Kirk envied him how stoic and regal he could seem even in the get up he was still wearing.

When Spock finally spoke, it sent a shiver down Kirk’s back; and not the good type this time.

“Would you care to explain, Captain?”

Kirk was many things. A good half of them nothing flattering; and he would be the first to concede them – even if only to himself; it wouldn’t do to buckle in front of others. But a coward was none of them.

He straightened his spine an threw his broad shoulders back, gazing intently into the darkness that had temporarily swallowed Spock’s face.

“There was a little misunderstanding with the King and the Queen. Somehow they came to the ludicrous notion that we two are... well. Mates – if I wanted to coin their phrase. I wanted to correct them!” Kirk quickly assured, when he saw a slight jerking motion of the lean body at the door and raised his open hands in a placating gesture. “But I had noticed you being a little... overwhelmed by the Prince’s attention. It seemed like he had a crush on you or something. So I said ‘yes’ in order to get him off your back. Seriously. No ulterior motives, Spock.”

‘Well... not until now that they have given us the same quarters, that is.’

He knew that he had told the story a little backward, but that didn’t matter right now; the crux of the whole thing was clear.

“So they have given us the same quarters because they think us to be... mates?” Spock said slowly. It sounded dangerous to Kirk’s ears and he had to force himself not to take a step back and away from the Vulcan.

“It... would seem so. Look, Spock; I know this isn’t ideal, but I just wanted to help you, you know?”

Spock threw his shoulders back, stepping forward and into the silver light of the moon. His face was perfectly calm, but his eyes were burning with fierce determination.

“I appreciate the notion, Captain; however, I am perfectly capable to look after myself. I don’t need your... pity.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed and he slowly curled his hands into fists.

“It was no pity, damn you! I simply didn’t want to look at him trying to grope you, any longer! And we both saw how brilliant you have managed to look after yourself, haven’t we?” he spat heatedly and froze where he was standing.

His mouth went dry and his arms were hanging slack at his sides, while he prayed he could clutch his last words out of the air where they were hanging heavily between them and stuff them back inside his mouth so they could crawl into the dark recesses of his psyche, where they had sprung forth from.

Like in slow-motion Kirk watched Spock’s whole being snap to attention, the large, dark eyes looking simultaneously angry and vulnerable.

“Spock... I didn’t want to...” Kirk began, but the Vulcan just held up one hand, effectively silencing him; only the frantic shivering betraying what was going on inside the too still body.

Kirk watched helpless as the man slowly made his way towards the balcony, opened the glass door and stepped outside.

‘Damn,’ the Captain thought sluggishly; he felt like his blood had been replaced by ice that was coursing relentlessly through his body. He slowly went over towards the couch and plopped down on it, watching Spock just standing there and gazing over the landscape. The skirt of his tunic fluttering slightly in the breeze that was coursing outside.

It was rather hypnotic...

 

Kirk jerked awake disoriented and feeling like his brain has been carved out of his head and been replaced with cotton. He rubbed his hazel eyes and then the kink in his neck, while slowly looking around the room. This weren’t his rooms on the Enterprise. What...

His throbbing eyes made out a lone figure on a balcony; he saw upswept, pointed ears and a regally stiff back and all of a sudden everything that has been happening this evening came crushing down on him.

He could not tell how long he had been sleeping; it could not have been that long, for it was still dark outside – the moon must’ve moved considerably though, because the lighting in the room was entirely different than before.

Kirk struggled to get to his feet, eying the Vulcan outside with weary suspicion. It looked like Spock hadn’t budged one bit.

‘He has to be freezing...’ Kirk thought and slowly looked around, spotting a folded blanket on one of the beanbag chairs. He was already on his way towards it, when he halted and shot an unsure gaze outside.

If Spock were a woman he would’ve wrapped him in the blanket, guided him inside and let him calm down. However, Spock was _no_ woman and the Vulcan had made it pretty clear that he was not in favour of being pitied or babied in any way. The Captain sighed and shoved his hand through his hair, not caring for the way that made it surround his head like a fiery mane.

‘Should better get back on the horse, after falling down...’ he thought and slowly made his way towards the door that was separating him from his stubborn, hurt Vulcan.

‘ _My_ Vulcan? Huh...’ A curious warmth was spreading through his stomach, helping his head to clear off the hazy daze from before.

He stepped outside and came to a halt next to the taller man. Silently they were both gazing across the landscape of Tchikon 5. Kirk was still debating with himself how he should approach Spock who had not acknowledged him in any way, when the Vulcan began speaking.

“I have stood here for the past 4.78 hours, contemplating everything that has happened so far. I am not one step closer towards any answers. This is most... infuriating.”

The usually velvet baritone was scratchy and Kirk wondered if Spock would get a cold from standing outside so long.

The human didn’t know what to say to that, so he just waited and hoped, that it would be the right thing to do. He almost doubted it, after Spock fell into a long, heavy silence after his short non-explanation.

However, the Vulcan finally continued, “I find myself surrounded by paradoxes. I want to reach out towards my fellow beings and yet there is an inner barrier that I am as of yet unable to break down. I can see the emotions on their faces and yet I am perpetually in a state of uncertainness regarding their truth and my ability to understand them. I yearn for the emotion and closeness of another being and yet I shy away from it as if it was a white hot flame, despite knowing – or at least suspecting – that it would be most amenable to my advances. It is most... illogical.”

Kirk’s breath caught and he didn’t dare turn his head towards Spock; afraid that he would somehow startle the gentle being out of his silent reverie and remind him of what he was saying and to whom.

The deep baritone became nearly inaudible as Spock continued, “I am, as a result of my hybrid physiology, infertile. Up until now I thought myself immune to the calls of the flesh. And yet I found my gaze tonight... wandering. Over and over. And I caught my mind drifting and wondering just... _how_ it would be. And at the same time the thought makes me almost physically ill.”

Kirk slowly closed his hazel eyes, willing his heart to stop beating so frantically. It wouldn’t do to get a stroke right now when they were making such an enormous step forward.

“Spock...” he said quietly into the ensuing silence.

“Yes, Jim,” the Vulcan answered dutifully.

The Captain took a deep, calm breath and slowly turned his head towards the man at his side. Spock looked tranquil, but a gaze down to the twitching hands told another story.

Kirk slowly turned his whole body.

“You can feel my emotions.”

“Yes, Jim.”

Did he only imagine it, or had there been a slight trembling in Spock’s voice? The Vulcan stoically stared straight ahead. Kirk could not see enough of the face to make an educated guess what he was thinking.

“But you need me to touch you, don’t you? You need my skin on yours to feel my emotions,” the Captain said with a low voice that was vibrating in his broad chest like the purr of a large cat. He could see in Spock’s profile that the Vulcan was closing his eyes, the corner of his mouth trembling ever so slightly.

“Yes,” the man bit out. It sounded like a sob to Kirk’s ears. He felt hot and cold all over his body as he witnessed Spock’s internal struggle. He reached out, grabbing the upper arm of the Vulcan and turning him around despite Spock jerking like he had been branded.

“Is _this_ okay?” Kirk said, holding the gaze of large, chocolate eyes that were looking at him pleadingly. He could not tell if they asked him to stop or to continue and he had the feeling that Spock himself was not sure either. The lean body was positively vibrating with his inner turmoil.

Everything in Spock seemed to be set to flight and yet he was stubborn enough to stand his ground and not let his fear overwhelm him.

Kirk stared into so-human eyes that were domineering this so-alien face and felt a rush of warmth pooling out of the vicinity of his stomach.

Spock closed his eyes slowly, clearly savouring. Kirk’s lips parted in fascination as he realized that the gentle creature was eagerly lapping up each and every emotion and impression Kirk was transmitting through his touch on the cool skin.

‘He has been freezing after all,’ the random thought flitted through his brain and Spock’s lips fell open for a fraction.

“I have been,” he conceded as if divulging a secret. Kirk was fascinated from this creature. Spock, perpetually torn between two worlds and relentlessly fighting against all expectations that wanted to chain him down. It had to be so hard to be him.

Kirk stepped closer towards the lean body, his hand slowly gliding up silky, dry skin towards a shoulder. He felt the shiver going through the other body.

“Is this okay?” he said with a low voice, his hazel eyes flicking over the exquisitely carved features.

“Yes,” Spock positively croaked, opening his dark eyes and looking at Kirk. The human felt determined and pressed his lips together into a thin line.

“Spock. I want to try this. I don’t know when I have begun thinking of you as more than a friend, but it does not matter right now. I want to try this... between us.” He gestured with his free hand in the narrow space between their chests.

He could see Spock’s pupils blowing wide, nearly engulfing the soft brown of his irises. The Vulcan did not answer and after a moment Kirk figured out, that he probably was totally overwhelmed by all the emotions currently being transmitted between them.

A slow, lazy smile spread itself across Kirk’s pale lips and he raised his hand towards Spock’s jaw. The Vulcan flinched slightly away, but stood rooted to the spot.

“Is this okay?” Kirk asked again, his voice dropping. He marvelled at the fact that Spock was very much physically able to put an end to all advances and yet this creature with the formidable strength and intellect had decided to keep standing here with him.

“Yes, Jim,” came the slow answer and Kirk’s gut made a heavy flip that nearly brought him down upon his knees.

“How about this?” he murmured, slowly letting his calloused fingers glide along a jaw that was rough with the stubble of the day. It reminded him once more that he had a man in front of him. A man that was a few inches taller than him, gazing down into his hazel eyes with an anxiety that made the Vulcan nearly hold his breath, if the short pants the man was emitting were anything to go by.

The forceful, little breaths sent pulsating shivers down Kirk’s spine, while the thick fingers of his hand slid under Spock’s earlobe, around his neck and into the short incredibly silky hair at the nape of his neck.

Spock’s eyelids were fluttering slightly and the tip of a tongue that looked considerably more pointed than that of a human poked out between delicately curved lips in order to moisten them. Kirk wondered automatically, how that tongue would probably feel sliding against his own and had to suppress a moan at the unintentionally sensual display from the Vulcan.

“It’s all right,” Spock assured him with a voice that was thick with all kinds of emotions that the Captain could not even hope to decipher.

“And... this?” he murmured, shoving his fingers further up into the black cap of shiny hair and exerting pressure upon the back of the Vulcan’s head.

For the fraction of a second Kirk felt panic rise in him as Spock faltered, slightly moving against the pressure, the dark eyes nearly hectically gliding over the golden face of his friend, searching for something Kirk could not fathom.

Apparently, though, the Vulcan had found what he had been looking for, for he relaxed his muscles again and let himself be guided downwards toward the face of his friend.

“Yes, Captain,” he murmured.

Kirk’s fingers slightly clenched in Spock’s hair as a reflex to the warm breath ghosting over his face.

“Jim,” he corrected, his voice scratchy and staring straight in soulful eyes. Spock hesitated for but a second; a cocky grin spread lazily across the Captain’s face, when he saw the capitulation in them.

“Jim,” Spock rumbled deeply, his tension radiating off of him in waves.

Kirk raised his chin in order to close the last few centimetres separating them. The last time he had done that, he had been dazed with all kinds of medication. He was determined to make it better this time; and to enjoy the hell out of it.

He felt a puff of hot breath ghosting across his cheek, when Spock gasped over the sudden, exquisite contact of lips that were being carefully fitted to his own.

Kirk’s calloused fingers dug into the silky hair of his friend in order to restrict Spock, as he wanted to dart away at the first shock of touching skin. He had his eyes closed, savouring the simple pressure he was currently exerting.

When he felt shy fingers slowly encircling his waist, a slight grin stretched his lips. Kirk tilted his head a little, brushing his lips over Spock’s tightly closed mouth, letting the man feel the velvet texture.

While doing so, he took a deep breath that was mingling with the nervous, short puffs that were coming out of the slim nostrils of the other man. Spock had no really noticeable scent. If Kirk had to describe it, he would’ve said that the Vulcan smelled like the desert – spicy, hot and dry. It was strangely comforting.

The lips under his own were firm and kind of cold at first, but they soon warmed under the insistent pressure and the delectable gliding of skin on skin. Kirk nearly laughed in elation when he felt Spock tentatively mimic his actions, rubbing those delicately curved lips Kirk had been looking at over and over in the past weeks with shy, little motions against his own.

It was a strange experience – kissing a man; having to tilt his head upwards to meet a mouth instead of stooping down; feeling big, warm hands on his hips that were convulsively gripping tight, showing him their strength that was hidden in the deceptively slender digits.

However, it was a nice experience.

The height difference between himself and Spock wasn’t so big that the Vulcan would have to bow down low and the slight burning, when their chins rubbed together and the stubble of the day made itself felt, was surprisingly satisfying.

A deep rumble of satisfaction emerged out of Kirk’s throat and he lazily ended the kiss by capturing the plump bottom lip of the Vulcan between his own and sucking ever so slightly on the flesh.

He retreated slowly, when he felt the slight stiffening of the other man.

‘Too soon. Have to go slow,’ he thought dazedly, blinking his eyes open, only to see large, soft eyes already fixed on him.

It startled a laugh out of the human.

“Have your eyes been open the whole time?” he exclaimed, marvelling at how hoarse his voice sounded. Spock nodded slowly, his head still bowed towards Kirk, watching the human intently.

“You... are beautiful, Jim,” Spock suddenly said quietly, stunning the Captain into an embarrassed silence. He hadn’t been expecting a compliment; and certainly not this.

He had been called handsome a couple of times, yes; but beautiful? He had to clear his throat and slowly extricated his hand from Spock’s person.

“We should go to bed and snatch a couple hours of rest, Spock. We can talk later about...” He gestured clumsily between them, “This.”

Spock did not immediately react. He just stared and gripped Kirk tighter for a bit, before slowly releasing him. The Captain had the impression that he somehow short circuited the highly intelligent brain. Spock seemed like he was living in a dream right now.

He grinned slightly, gesturing for his First Officer to follow and was startled when one slender hand gripped his, loosely entangling their fingers.

Kirk looked down at their entwined hands. “O...kay?” he whispered; suddenly he wasn’t that sure anymore what was going on here. Was there some... undercurrent he was not aware of?

Hazel eyes slowly drifted a long arm upwards until he was looking into vulnerable human eyes staring at him askance.

And all of a sudden everything was all right again. He squeezed the hand of his best friend, guiding him into the dark room and over towards the bed. When Spock stiffened and started pulling back with a slightly distressed sound, he kept calm.

“Hush. Nothing is going to happen. We each have our side and we stay there,” he murmured, pulling the reluctant man closer.

‘Be my child. Be my tutor,’ he thought, staring at Spock intently. Dark eyes snapped towards him and blinked slowly, while the tension seemed to melt out of the tall man.

After that, Spock let himself be willingly led towards the bed and crawled under the blanket. None of the men said anything, but they both were aware of the tingling in their lips and the phantom pressure on their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^... are there still people reading or have you all deserted me? XD


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Kirk thinks about the nature of women and there is talk about the roles of men and women and whatnot. Please keep in mind: this is merely a character speaking. It is not supposed to be insulting or mocking or to display my own view on the subject matter.

When Spock opened his eyes, he knew several things instantly:

It was on the dot 0725 local time. He had slept 3.47 hours and he still wore these very... unique clothes the Archnids had given them for their festivities. He was really looking forward to changing into his regular Starfleet-issued uniform.

All these facts – or rather the fact that he _knew_ them instantly – were not to be taken lightly, for they were clear indicators for how organized and calm his mind was at the moment. No jumbled thoughts, no rampant emotions; just cool, tranquil logic that was so very soothing for his frayed nerves.

He slowly looked down upon his body and caught sight of his hands that were lying clasped together on his stomach. Slowly the Vulcan lifted them and held them in front of his face, rotating them every which way and surveying their reaction. No shivering, no twitching; only obeying in the most precise form he ever knew. He sighed inaudibly and closed his eyes for the fraction of a second.

It was the first time since he had acquired these new appendages 1.78 months ago that he didn’t see them solely as just this: new appendages.

He felt like a whole being again; despite the long, pale greenish scars on the backs of his hands or the foreign feeling of the stiff joint in his left ring finger. A most... amenable condition for the Vulcan.

‘And all this just from the most basic connection to Jim.’

The thought led Spock to slowly turn his head to his left. A wave of anxiety drifting through his being as his calm mind reminded him that he was not alone in this bed; that his Captain was lying by his side.

Nonetheless, the tension drained out of his muscles again, when he saw the human where he was supposed to be: on the other side of the bed.

A most curious paradox that made Spock blink a few times, his mind eagerly tackling the problem. It seemed that he was yearning for the presence of this highly illogical human; he had been nearly – yes, it would be illogical to deny it – afraid of the thought of turning his head and seeing the space beside him empty.

Now that he finally had a semblance of his former equilibrium back, he had to admit: he could not live without the Captain. He _needed_ Jim’s presence – both mentally and physically – in order to stay sane.

Simultaneously, though, he had been frozen in unbearable tension over the notion that Jim could have sidled closer towards him than he was comfortable with while sleeping.

However, there was plenty of space still between them despite the Captain having sprawled out on his side of the narrow Archnid-made bed – one leg of his hanging down to the side of the bed, one arm thrown over his head, the other lying carelessly over a flat stomach that was also still clad in the fabric of yesterday’s activities; the Captain’s mouth was slightly opened in order to emit a constant, low rumbling sound that Spock was to 99.7% sure was snoring; it did not seem particularly important now, though, for it was not intruding upon his keen sense of hearing – it was more like the purring of a fed cat.

Dark eyes focussed on those pale, open lips and his fingers were slowly burying themselves in the blanket at his hips, while his eidetic memory supplied him with all the sensory information that had come with pressing their mouths together.

Who would have thought that this human way of kissing was so... agreeable?

‘It should not have come as such a surprise. Humans are highly sensual beings; it is only logical that they would know everything about the flesh and how to elicit the most... pleasurable reactions,’ the Vulcan thought, feeling the tips of his ears warm up in reaction.

Slowly Spock turned towards his side, keenly observing his Captain, before slowly getting up on hands and knees and making his way towards him in careful motions that were designed to not awaken him.

 

Kirk awoke from the most curious sensation. There was warmth wandering along his face, every now and again with the addition of a slight whisper of _something_ skimming along his skin. He kept his eyes closed and his face still, while he tried to figure out what was currently going on. His brain was foggy from all the wine he had imbibed at the festivities yesterday and he had the feeling something had crawled down his mouth and died in the back of his throat.

At least that was what it tasted like right now.

It took an embarrassingly long time for him until he could make out a pattern in the curious warmth on his face; the whispering – what... touches? – were always on the same points on his face: somewhere on his cheekbone, on his jaw near the chin and on the vulnerable, thin skin of his temple. His skin started tingling in anticipation and something that he identified as a memory induced from touch.

Only when a scent entered his nostrils, though, that was as unobtrusive as a butterfly casually flying over your path, were the memories of the nights activities flooding his brain again, causing his stomach to tighten almost painfully in a sudden, joyful spasm.

‘Spock!’ he thought, his eyes snapping open, only to gaze right into the austere face of his First Officer.

‘Damn,’ Kirk thought and was amused how breathless he sounded even in his own mind. He never had been so happy to see someone. Especially not someone who looked so distinctly unimpressed as the man currently leaning over him and studying him with the eyes of a scientist.

However, the Captain saw the change in his best friend immediately. The unquenchable curiosity inside Spock was shining bright out of gentle, dark eyes that were fixed with there formidable focus solely upon him at this very moment. It had been _months_ since he had last seen this gaze. Could it be, that ‘his’ Spock was back?

His mouth was dry – this time, though, for another reason than his alcohol consume. His lips stretched out into a slow, lazy grin.

The slanted eyebrows of the Vulcan drew together slightly and the fingertips who had been oh-so-slightly resting on the skin of his temple were rushing towards his mouth in order to lay over his lips. Spock said nothing though the message was clear: The Captain was to be silent for now. Kirk – who really had been just about to break the silence of the tranquil morning filtering through the curtains – raised his eyebrows but kept quiet.

For endless moments Spock just hovered there, watching the human intently. Kirk had to catch his breath and bite the inner flesh of his lower lip in order to still comply to the demands of the creature when the Vulcan drew his fingers away. The strength the other man had been exuding just a few moments prior was slowly draining away; he could see uncertainty and nervousness entering the gaze of the gentle being. It didn’t seem negative, though, so he just lay there and waited.

Spock’s gaze flicked for the fraction of a second towards one golden, muscled arm Kirk had thrown above his head and back down towards the face of his friend.

‘What... keep silent _and_ keep my hands off?’ Kirk thought a little exasperated and blinked a few times in order to clear his still sleepy hazel eyes. He could understand it, though, when he thought about it. Right now Spock had the active role, which meant he could decide what was about to happen.

‘Maybe he just wants to explore a little. Huh,’ Kirk thought lazily; everything seemed so surreal. They really needed to talk – ‘God, I sound like a woman!’ – but the prospect of a little, tentative exploration seemed unbelievably exciting right now...

He was a startled out of his reverie when a slender, olive tinged hand hovered only a scant centimetre away from his gaze.

He wanted to exclaim ‘Woah!’ but could silence himself at the last second by biting his tongue.

Hotter-than-human fingers descended upon him, forcing him to close his eyes again, while the golden eyebrows drew together. He had no idea what – oh.

Heat crept up his neck and he was fairly certain that it suffused his face within seconds, when he first felt hot, inquisitive fingertips gliding along the vulnerable skin of his eyelids and then... cleaning the residue of his sleep away from the corners of his eyes. The Captain wanted to squirm away, bat at the fingers that were gently wiping or laugh out of embarrassment. He could not tell when the last time had been, someone had done _that_ to him. Maybe his mother. Sometime before Tarsus IV.

It seemed inexorably... intimate. He opened one eye after Spock seemed to be done with it and peeked at the man above him.

Spock was looking intently at what he was doing, his lips opened ‘just so’ in his obvious fascination with the human’s anatomy; looking just so innocently enquiring that Kirk simply could not bring himself to chastise him. When Spock finally drew his hand away and they were looking at each other once more, Kirk had to swallow hard.

This really was like no encounter he had ever had with a woman. Not like they were rough or anything – because it seemed to be the very definition of women to be gentle – but he could not say that any of his short encounters had ever taken the time to do something so mundane; or expressed interest in it.

And really; could they be blamed? They had been in it for a night of fun without any ties, just like he had. He could expect from them not more than he would expect from himself in such a situation.

The knowledge that whatever ‘this’ was, would be nothing casual, was slightly intimidating. Kirk felt nervousness bubble up in his gut and pool in his chest like icy water.

He hated nervousness; and usually he overplayed it by talking. He could talk his way out of everything, after all.

Kirk wanted to open his mouth and break the silence that had settled over them like a warm blanket; he wanted to say something silly and make all of this less serious, less intimidating, less... real. However, Spock got a strange look in his eyes as if knowing what thoughts were currently flitting about in Kirk’s head. Before the blonde man could say anything, incredibly warm Vulcan lips were being pressed to his mouth.

A startled ‘MMmmph!’ rumbled out of his throat before he felt the tentative slide of skin on skin and all his trepidations seemed to fly out the window. Hazel eyes closed slowly and with relish and he tilted his chin up in order to reciprocate.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to be with a man. Men had definitely fewer qualms about the more... real aspects of a relationship. Like morning breath or the rough scratch of stubble on sensitive skin. Spock didn’t really seem to mind at all and Kirk could not say that he detected any staleness in the breath of the Vulcan.

‘He’s always as clean as a cat,’ he thought, his lips slowly stretching into a delicious grin, while he playfully captured Spock’s bottom lip with his own and nipped at it. He thought about trying to deepen the kiss, but maybe that was too much, too soon. The puff of air ghosting along his cheek that was indicating Spock’s slightly startled gasp at the playfulness of the Captain, was indication enough that he wasn’t ready for anything more.

When Spock drew back, Kirk almost laughed at the suspicious look the Vulcan threw him.

Spock still was not smiling or even grinning. Just watching and assessing. The slant in his eyebrows, though, was relaxed and the hand that was currently clutching one of Kirk’s broad shoulders – when had that happened? – was not shivering or twitching.

Good signs all around.

“Can I talk again?” Kirk whispered towards the serious face hovering above him. Spock slowly raised one eyebrow and the right corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly upwards.

“If you must,” he responded, the baritone of his voice even deeper from sleep, sending delicious shivers down Kirk’s spine. The Captain huffed a breath and grimaced as he slowly retrieved his arm from above; his muscles were protesting after they had been in this position for so long.

He laid his hands squarely upon the muscular chest hovering above him – and glimpsing quickly at the black fur covering it that was peeking out of the tunic – and shoved forcefully, causing the Vulcan to loose his balance and topple on his back.

The Captain laughed slightly at the distinctly miffed expression of the other man and sat up.

“I’m going to contact the Enterprise. Have to know if everything is all right,” he said, swinging his legs out of the bed. When he looked back over his shoulder, he could almost see the shift inside Spock as he slowly and with grace got up off the bed.

“Indeed, Captain. I will use the facilities while you contact the ship, if that is amenable to you,” the Vulcan said with a formal politeness that did in no way indicate that he had only moments prior woken his commanding Officer with shy fingers on the human face and a delectable, slow kiss.

Kirk stood there, marvelling at the changes the First Officer could underwent. There really was much more to him than met the eye.

‘Still waters run deep,’ he thought, while gesturing in invitation towards the only other door in the room. He suspected that it must hold a bathroom.

Spock made a detour towards a low table where their uniforms were lying neatly folded and then disappeared behind the door.

Kirk slowly rubbed over his rough chin, while staring at the door, remembering the firm, hot lips and picturing the curiously pointed tongue and had to grin.

‘I just can’t believe it. I feel like I’m sixteen again. Heh.’

He went searching for his communicator that had to be somewhere in the folds of his tunic.

 

“So...” Kirk said after they both had made their morning ablutions and were once more in their Starfleet-regulated uniforms. They were eying each other over the expanse of the couch; sitting at opposite sides and feeling rather awkward after everything that had happened.

At least he thought Spock felt awkward. The Vulcan wasn’t exactly looking at him and had his hands clasped together in his lap.

‘They’re shivering again...’ he thought with some wonder.

“Are there any problems on board the Enterprise that would need our presence?” Spock asked with the formal dignity that never failed to bring a slight grin to Kirk’s pale lips. The Captain shook his head.

“No. Nothing out of the ordinary. Mr. Sulu and Scotty are keeping the bunch on their toes. If anything goes wrong they have orders to contact one of us immediately. Or both, since I don’t know if we will be at the same place... which would bring me to my next question: What are your plans for the day, Mr. Spock?”

Yes. Talking. He could talk like there was no tomorrow and with the help of such mundane topics it was much easier to tentatively touch the subjects he really wanted to know. He observed the gentle creature sitting more than an arm’s length away; back stiff and regal, looking absolutely stoic and yet somehow nervous and shy.

Spock slightly tilted his head and finally dared to lay his dark eyes upon the Captain.

“Lieutenant Uhura and I have agreed upon surveying different sights of the Archnids as well as investigating their culture further.” He paused when he saw Kirk pull a face and raised his eyebrow. “You are free to ‘come along’ as the human saying is, Captain. I am sure Lieutenant Uhura would appreciate your presence immensely,” the Vulcan intoned almost sardonically. Kirk snorted slightly and shot Spock an unimpressed look.

“Yeah. Right. And she would be the only one ‘immensely appreciating my presence’?” he asked teasingly and was a little surprised to see a slight flush suffusing the tips of Spock’s gracefully upswept ears.

“Indeed,” the Vulcan deadpanned, but the soft glittering in his eyes told another story. Kirk’s stomach flipped and he cleared his throat.

“I think I’ll leave the exploration of the... ah... cultural part to you two. Bones and Chekov have a slightly different exploration in mind, if I overheard them correctly, so I’ll just clink myself in.”

Spock nodded, his austere face as neutral as ever. They fell into another awkward silence and Kirk was chewing on his tongue. Damn, this was hard! Normally they got on like a house on fire; nothing awkward or stilted.

But this was another story; another part of their relationship – and none of the two had any clue what it entailed.

“Spock, I...”

“Jim, I believe...”

They spoke simultaneously up and came to a sudden halt, eying each other over the expanse of couch that was separating them. Kirk grinned broadly and saw an answering, mischievous twitch in Spock’s eyebrow. He wanted to say something, but his communicator interrupted them rather rudely. His brow furrowed and he flipped it open.

“Kirk here.”

“Jim, we’re waiting in the entrance hall, you know! Get your ass down here, we want to locate all the bars before we decide on where to settle,” came Bones’ gruff voice over the speaker; Kirk stared at the device in his hand, inexorably feeling like a little boy that had got caught and chanced a glance towards Spock who sat there, unreadable as a Buddha and staring at his Captain utterly nonplussed.

‘He probably had figured already out what that ‘different exploration’ entailed. I should really stop and try to sneak something past that Vulcan brain of his,’ the Captain thought, while sighing into the communicator, “Right on, Bones. I’m on my way. Kirk out.”

He flipped the communicator shut and got up from his seat.

“We’ll meet here tonight and then we’ll finally talk. All right?” he said, eying the sitting man. Spock solemnly raised soulful doe-eyes towards his best friend.

“Yes, Captain,” he replied dutifully, his velvet baritone ensnaring Kirk, who stepped closer and leaned down. Before he thought better of it, he pressed his lips to the Vulcan’s silky mouth, who jerked slightly in surprise but did not pull entirely back.

A few seconds later, Kirk drew away and nodded at the alien.

“Until then, Commander,” he intoned gravely with a teasing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, before turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

His heart was beating frantically in his chest and his palms were moist.

‘Sixteen. I’m fucking sixteen again.’

 

“Jim, what’s up with you? The ladies are technically crawling above one another in order to get your attention und you just sit there and sip that one lousy drink. Damn you,” McCoy growled into the ear of the Captain after he had observed his strange behaviour for about two hours.

Chekov, Jim and he himself had been touring the inner City of the Capital (McCoy would be damned, but he could just not pronounce its name, so it would be just ‘the Capital’ for him); thoroughly enjoying the attention they got from the Archnidian population.

It was like they were celebrities without having done _anything_. Just them being human seemed to be enough for the curious creatures to halt everything they were doing in order to gape at them with open mouths. Some shop owners even scurried out in order to present them with odd devices as presents that were currently residing in Chekov’s bag. Scotty would have a blast taking them apart and putting them back together, once they were back on the Enterprise.

The three of them had been grinning and strutting along the sidewalks like they owned the place and McCoy would not have been surprised if one of the delicate Archnidian women had raised her baby towards them in order for them to kiss it.

“I feel like a God!” McCoy had exclaimed with a rare, broad grin on his craggy face, when they had finally found an establishment that looked comfortable enough for their tastes.

In his opinion that was the only fault in the Archnids: they were not able to produce a decent, gloomy bar where a man could wind down after a long day at work. Everything in their society seemed bright and busy and happy.

‘Like a swarm of bees,’ he had though, eying the translucent wings on the creatures surrounding them.

So everything had been great; no, not only great: marvellous. McCoy being worshipped as a God, like it was his due all along? Perfect.

Only that his Captain seemed oddly detached from all of this. He seemed to enjoy himself immensely, but normally he would have one woman on each thigh by about now; especially if they were as delicately beautiful as these women. A bunch of them were sitting at the table next to them, not-so-surreptitiously ogling them and even vibrating with their wings in their eagerness to get the attention of the handsome Captain that was currently staring stubbornly into the glass which he was nursing between his hands.

‘Ah... another thing they can’t produce properly: decent booze,’ McCoy thought, while he waited for Jim to get his head out of the clouds and answer him. The drinks were tasting good; fruity and refreshing. But they were way too sweet for his taste and one just couldn’t drink enough to really get that nice buzzing at the back of one’s head. It was a pity. He nearly had decided that he would retire on this planet someday.

“I don’t know, Bones. I’m just not in the mood,” Jim said at last, slightly wiggling on his chair. McCoy raised one sardonic eyebrow.

“James T. Kirk not in the mood for some booty? Wait, I’ll call Scotty and he’ll beam us up in no time so I can check you out,” the Doctor said, while Chekov finally had enough with the strange antics of his Captain and took pity on the girls on the next table.

“Excuse me, Gentlemen,” he said with that smug Russian grin of his, seized his drink and slipped right out of his chair and practically into the lap of one gushing Archnidian girl.

‘Damn, lucky bastard,’ McCoy thought, eying Chekov with narrowed eyes and then looking back at Kirk, who had looked distinctly annoyed at his earlier words.

“I’m just not in the mood for some giggling, dumb bimbo at the moment, ok?” he hissed and winced at the strange look McCoy was shooting him.

“All right, partner. No need to bite my head off, you know,” the Georgian Doctor drawled.

“Sorry, Bones.”

“What’s up, Jim?”

“Nothing.”

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, taking another mouth full of the green liquid in his glass. He waited until the taste had seeped into his tongue and the tissue of his mouth before swallowing and slowly licking around the insides of his cheeks in order to get the delicious after taste.

He knew Jim; the man was no one to wallow endlessly in self-pity. He’d just wait long enough and the Captain would come around and –

“I’ve kissed him, you know.”

Bingo.

McCoy didn’t outwardly show how everything inside him seemed to seize up at Kirk’s reluctant declaration; he could just be as inscrutable as a Vulcan if he wanted to, thank you very much. He also didn’t need to ask whom his best friend was talking about; it was glaringly obvious after all the talks they’ve had in the last couple weeks and everything he had witnessed between them.

“So? Obviously you have improved on your technique. After all, he still spoke to you when we parted ways in the entrance hall. Last time you tried a move on him he scurried back into his hidey-hole for about a week,” McCoy murmured under his breath. This was a discussion that no one needed to witness, really.

Another silence fell between them and they listened to the music wafting through the room. It was obviously supposed to be some kind of sultry jazz, but was a little too upbeat in order to pull it off entirely.

“I seriously thought that as soon as I’d kiss him, I’d wake up and realize that I really don’t like him that way and that I really, really like breasts,” Kirk whispered and it sounded so dejected and lost to McCoy’s ears that the Doctor threw his friend a suspicious look.

“I suppose that’s not what happened?” he drawled. A part of him really didn’t want to know anything about that relationship blooming between his two closest friends. Another part of him realized, though, that life was not always fair and he could not get what he wanted (‘No, Leonard, we are eating in half an hour!’ ‘Okay, Mum...’) and that his friend had some sort of Mid-Life-Crisis that he – Doctor Leonard McCoy – needed to ease him through.

Kirk slightly wiggled on his chair again and stared into the bright red liquid in his glass. After some time he uttered a long, low moan, slumping forward and resting his forehead upon his right forearm.

When he mumbled his answer, McCoy almost didn’t hear him over the music and the fact that Jim muttered straight into his golden shirt.

“We only kissed, Bones. Really chaste kisses. Nothing out of the ordinary. And... and I felt like I was born anew. It sounds so stupid! But I never have had that with a woman. I’d like to say ‘Oh it’s so much more easier and uncomplicated with a guy!’ but that’s not it. It’s way more complicated with _him_. He’s totally fucked up, you know? I had to ease him through everything and yet he nearly seized up on me. And what’s more; I think I only scratched the tip of the iceberg. I don’t even know what he thinks of me or anything that has happened between us and yet I’m sitting here and thinking about later today when we’ll meet again and how I could coax him into more and – I’m a terrible person, aren’t I? Thinking about how I can get into his pants and all that.”

The Doctor stared at his best friend. He was slightly taken aback by the sudden flood of admissions and squirmed at the frankness with which Jim spoke about his sexual desires towards Spock.

McCoy had to force himself in order to keep looking at him.

“Jim; you’re a healthy man in the prime of your life. I don’t think it’s as far fetched as you think.” He settled with the last bit, because it seemed the easiest out of all the problems Jim had just thrown at his feet. The Captain slightly turned his head, until one sparkling hazel eye was gazing at his best friend.

“I don’t know, Bones. Actually, I didn’t want to have any advice. I have to figure this out myself. But it was nice to say it out loud. Makes it more real, you know.”

McCoy tilted his head and clanked his glass against the one of his friend.

“You’re welcome.”

 

Kirk could not believe it, but the sun was just _beginning_ to go down, when he arrived once again at the palace. He had left Bones and Chekov to their own devices; it had been fun while it lasted, but he was restless and the over enthusiastic Archnids slowly but surely got on his nerves.

And – he had to admit it – he was eager to get back to Spock. He finally wanted to get this whole talk over and done with in order to get a picture of where it left them as friends, colleagues and probably... lovers.

A shiver ran down Kirk’s spine and he had to actively check himself on the gleaming surface of a plate if his face still was neutral, before he could walk up to one of the servants and ask him to kindly guide him to his rooms.

When he entered them, his heart inexorably sank; Spock was not there. Somehow he had thought the Vulcan would be back before him. And somehow the fact that he was ‘back home’ before his uptight and stoic First Officer was just sad. Like he was getting old before his years. Like he was starting to get... docile.

‘And how exactly would my life look at the side of Spock?’ he thought, while slowly getting out of his boots and plopping down on the couch with an exhausted sigh. He let his head fall back against the backrest and stared up at the ceiling. A life with Spock. Huh.

‘Would be pretty platonic, I guess. Even before that whole incident with the Andorians. Maybe all formal. He could keep calling me ‘Captain’ for all I know. Maybe he would never show any emotions and be all aloof in public. People would look at me with pity and ask themselves why the hell I’ve shacked up with a computer.’

His fingers slowly tightened into fists, while his breath went faster and faster.

However, his little nervous breakdown was very neatly interrupted by the soft clicking of the door that signalled that Spock was coming back. Kirk’s head snapped up from its resting place and his hazel eyes zeroed in on the tall, dark man standing in the doorway.

Spock had a linen bag slung over his back that seemed to be full with _something_ and his tricorder still hung on its strap from around his neck.

Kirk’s gut made a tight flip, when he looked into Spock’s face. Dark, soft eyes alight with curiosity and passion, a secret ever-so-tiny smile in the corner of his mouth; his posture was the epitome of efficiency and self-assurance – shoulders thrown back, back straight and feet slightly apart. His clothes were – Kirk had to make a double take – dusty and there even was a slight tear at the hem of Spock’s shirt.

So much for ‘always clean as a cat,’ Kirk thought, while trying hard not to gape at the vision of a Vulcan that was so deliciously _Spock_ that it made his breath catch in his throat. This was Spock. This was the friend he had missed these past months.

“Jim,” Spock intoned, slowly closing the door behind him and tilting his head ever so slightly to the side.

“You are back already.”

It was no question, for a question would have been illogical when his presence was so obviously evident. Nevertheless, the Captain slowly nodded and couldn’t keep the smile from stretching his lips. He sprung up from his resting place, all of a sudden full of energy again.

How could he have ever thought that Spock was passionless and robot-like? The vitality currently radiating from the other man was thrilling and invigorating the temperamental Captain.

“I was not in the mood for drinking, after all. I thought I’d come back and see what you’ve been up to,” he said jovially, twisting in order to peek behind Spock’s back at the linen bag.

“What _have_ you been up to?” he asked curiously and watched Spock walking over to a dining table and carefully dislodging his burden in order to lay it upon the surface.

“Lieutenant Uhura and I have been very lucky in our findings. We have hiked to a little village to the South; according to Queen Lika there had been the origin of an ancient civilization and the Lieutenant and I have been fortunate enough to get the help of some of the villagers. We found some utterly fascinating artefacts. Unfortunately I will have to wait until we are back on the Ship before I can analyze them thoroughly. However, while I have been preoccupied with my findings, Lieutenant Uhura has had the opportunity to begin studying the native language of the Archnids. Most Vulcan scientists would be rather astounded at how quick the Lieutenant is able to decipher the basic grammatical structures and also master them. Very impressive, indeed. She has also discovered that the Archnids are very adept in manipulating their vocal chords as well as the anatomy of their mouths. They are able to speak the most peculiar languages; the fact that they have mastered Standard in the capacity and skill they have, is not surprising any longer. Also they have been most kind in supplying us with local flora and fauna as well as native fruits. Lieutenant Sulu will be most pleased with the samples I could acquire. It will undoubtedly be a challenge, but I have utmost trust in his skills and that he will be able to raise a few so the crew of the Enterprise can sample them.”

While he spoke, his hands were working efficiently in carefully retrieving all kinds of objects from the bag.

There were samples of rock, soil, vegetation; even one or two scraps of what looked like fabric. Kirk had sidled up beside him, wondrously watching everything that was emerging and listening to the velvet baritone that was winding itself around him in the most delicious way.

Heat pooled in his gut, as he listened to the sheer essence, that was Spock: unbridled curiosity, a never ending thirst for knowledge, tightly wrapped in the near adoration of his fellow crewmembers. Not for the first time did it struck Kirk how utterly devoted the aloof Vulcan was to them.

‘We haven’t ‘taken him in our middle’. He simply has adopted _us. We_ are the fortunate ones. Not he,’ he thought amused, raising his hand and placing it between the shoulder blades of Spock.

The Vulcan automatically seized up, freezing in place with his hand hovering above a few seeds. Kirk nearly held his breath, intently watching Spock’s profile, while he began to slowly move his hand in tiny circles.

His throat felt tight but he forced words past the imaginary constriction, trying to sound casual, “These are very good news indeed, Mr. Spock. I can see that you’ll need to organize your findings. I’ll leave you to it for the moment and go have a shower. Then we’ll talk, shall we?”

He stopped the motions of his hand, but did not take it away. There was a nearly inaudible rush of air and Kirk was not sure if he had imagined it, or if Spock really had let the air blow out of him. He felt unbearably tense muscles slowly loosen under his touch.

“That is very acceptable... Jim,” Spock said after a while, turning his head slightly in order to look into smiling hazel eyes. Kirk loosened muscles he hadn’t realized had been seizing up and administered a last affectionate rub to the lean back, before he turned on his heel and stalked into the bathroom.

It was their last night on this planet – they would be departing at 1100 local time tomorrow – and he intended to make good use of the luxurious bathroom as long as it lasted.

Also he needed to make up a plan how he wanted to... go about things.

 

When he came back out, he was still rubbing his hair dry with a towel. His golden shirt was wet in places where he had been too lenient with his task – especially down his back, but it didn’t bother him. Spock was still at the table, carefully arranging his ‘loot’ and holding the silently beeping tricorder over some of them. The Captain let himself plop down onto the couch and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“I thought you’d have to wait until we’re back on the Enterprise before you could analyze them,” he rumbled and let the towel fall around his shoulders. Spock did not turn around; he was still leaning over the desk and examining something. Kirk could not see it through the man’s body.

“I’m afraid I could not resist the temptation while I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom, Sir,” he murmured absently, while Kirk studied his backside.

Trim, pert buttocks were pressing against the black fabric of Starfleet-issued regulation trousers. He somehow missed the soft, round curves of a female; however, he could not deny that the First Officer of the Enterprise was a very... aesthetically pleasing sight, as Spock would probably say.

Kirk carded his fingers through his hair in an attempt to coax it down.

“Jim,” he said, watching the Vulcan for a reaction.

“Excuse me?” came the still absent reply. A slow, delicious grin spread across Kirk’s face.

“I want you to call me Jim, Spock. Unless you have a kink I have not known about and want to play ‘master and servant’?” he teased, watching as the black cap of hair shot up in the air and slim shoulders snapped rigid.

Slowly Spock turned his head around in order to peek over his shoulder and back at the Captain. They were staring at one another for a few silent moments, before the tips of Spock’s ears started to suffuse with a very becoming green.

“My apologies; that was indeed not my intention. I will attempt to avoid this... mistake in the future,” Spock said at last with regal dignity, while turning around in order to look at the man lounging on the couch. Kirk slowly raised one corner of his mouth in a typical kirkian grin.

“In the future... yes. That’s what we need to talk about, isn’t it?” he said with a low voice, leaning forward and bracing himself with his elbows on his thighs. He watched as Spock carefully wiped every emotion from his narrow, pale face and neatly clasped his hands behind his back.

“Indeed,” the Vulcan intoned simply, looking at Kirk as if he was waiting for instructions. The human sighed. This whole ‘thing’ would not be easy if he had to coax Spock for everything and anything. However, he could understand the reluctance of the First Officer up to a certain point. A relationship was obviously new territory for the other man – and nothing to be taken lightly after his experiences.

“Why don’t you come over here?” Kirk asked, patting the cushion next to his right thigh invitingly.

Spock hesitated for but a second before he slowly made his way across the room. Kirk tried very hard to keep his mind open and just take in the physicality of the other man. He was an expert in this area when he wanted to get an idea of how aware and in control a woman was of her body (and consequently how much fun they could have); so it was no big leap to do it with Spock.

The Vulcan was moving with an economic grace that was curiously mind-boggling. He was tall and sometimes tended to curl his shoulders forward as if trying to make himself smaller and less noticeable; but when he was moving it was full of an understated grace that lit a fire of appreciation in Kirk’s hazel eyes and drew a lazy smile across his face.

He was positively surprised when Spock took his seat right next to him; he had thought he needed to almost force his friend to come this close.

‘Maybe I don’t have to coax him, after all...’ he thought, while he stared into dark, chocolate brown eyes, that were astonishingly open for a Vulcan.

Spock’s understated scent, enhanced by the sand currently clinging to his clothing, slowly crawled into Kirk’s nostrils, causing his heart rate to quicken. The body next to his was so warm, it seemed almost feverish.

“Jim...” Spock said with a low voice, intently watching the other man, who needed to get a grip on himself and his suddenly scrambled thoughts.

 

Spock felt the Vulcan heart in his left side flutter nervously, while he walked towards Kirk. The human looked delectable in his dishevelled state after the shower and his sensitive nostrils could clearly detect the fruity scent of whichever soap he had used in order to clean himself.

Almost without his own volition he took a seat right beside the human, until he could feel the coolness radiating from Kirk that seemed to soothe and calm him instantly.

‘Now I need only to be in his proximity in order for him to take this effect on me... It is quite extraordinary. Is this what the I’ki sa-kai bond is about? Is there a literal bond forming between us that I am currently unaware of? This could get dangerous...’ he mused, while he waited for his friend to start this conversation.

Jim, however, - he had to remember to call him Jim – didn’t seem to be in any hurry in order to start their conversation. His sparkling hazel eyes were currently just roaming over Spock’s face, seemingly entranced in what he was seeing.

The fluttering in his side increased and he felt a little uncomfortable, so he murmured, “Jim...”

He saw the human jerk slightly in a way that indicated clearly that his thoughts must have been thousand miles away – as the human saying was.

The Captain slightly tilted his head.

“Yes, Spock?” he answered, while that stubborn lock of his fell into his forehead. The Vulcan sighed, raising his right hand and starting to card his fingers through the golden hair in order to get it into the shape Jim normally preferred – and that was looking quite agreeable on him.

For a split second the hazel eyes widened in astonishment, before his eyelids slowly sank down half way; he seemed to clearly enjoy it. Spock had to exert control over himself in order not to bite into the tip of his tongue out of nervousness, as his efficient carding of the hair slowly morphed to slightly clumsy petting.

Kirk sighed deeply in his broad chest and after a while he turned around until he sat with his back to Spock, who had quickly twitched away with his hands, afraid he had hurt him.

“Please continue?” Kirk said silently. His voice was different. It didn’t sound at all like the commandeering voice Spock was usually acquainted with. It sounded... dreamy, for lack of a better term; maybe a bit wistfully.

He hesitated; but what was so disagreeable with the notion? It was strange – touching another being this way; and his Captain and friend nonetheless. But it also made a warmth pool through him that was most agreeable.

“Certainly,” he intoned; his voice was calm and steadfast, not betraying the nervousness he felt, when he slowly started to draw his long fingers through the still slightly wet hair.

Every time his fingertips came in contact with the cool skin of Kirk’s skull Spock involuntarily could grasp a few of his surface emotions and thoughts.

For the most part it was a delectable mix of warmcalmgoodrelaxing and sluggish thoughts about how he would never have guessed Spock to be so touchy feely. The Vulcan wondered about that one himself.

However, the longer he kept the connection of their skin, the deeper he could reach into the unconscious thoughts of the Captain. Spock felt the little hair at the back of his neck stand to attention, when he caught the thought of, ‘Mother...’

He jerked his hands away as if burnt. Kirk was startled out of his silent reverie and turned his head, peering over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

Spock stared at the hands that were forcefully clasped together in his lap.

“I am sorry, Jim. I’m afraid that I’m not as controlled as I would like to be,” he said quietly, grinding his teeth together in shame. A quick look upwards in the confused face of his Captain made him very nearly squirm.

“I have read your thoughts. Normally I am quite diligent in not paying attention to the surface thoughts that are transmitting from others around me, but it seems that the long absence...”

“What have you read?” the Captain interrupted him, watching him warily. Spock sighed and the left corner of his mouth twitched.

“You were thinking about your Mother.”

Silence met this sentence and the colour of the Captain’s face changed fascinatingly fast from brick red to paper white just to settle in the end on a very unbecoming splotched colour. He just stared and Spock was quiet for a moment, until the curious niggling in the back of his head and the cramped feeling of his stomach prompted him to ask, “May I ask why you think of your Mother, when I touch you?”

Jim opened his mouth, but no words came forth. He closed it again with a snap and just stared again, flexing the muscles of his biceps quite noticeably under the tight, golden shirt. When he didn’t say anything Spock asked what was really weighing him down.

“Do you wish I was a woman? Do you think _of_ me as a woman?”

Jim’s mouth fell open again, but this time in clear astonishment, his hazel eyes nearly protruding out of his head.

“Ex... cuse me? Why would I wish you were a woman?” he managed to stutter out. Spock took in the appearance of his Captain and slightly tilted his head to one side.

‘So this is how this talk is going to unravel. Quite interesting,’ he thought and then said with quiet conviction, “In my experience of the last 3.4 years that I am under your command as a First Officer, I have seen you involved with 23 women. And these are only the ones I am aware of. You have never shown any interest in a male of any species, which leads me to the conclusion that you are exclusively heterosexual. I am somewhat at a loss as to why you seem to be so... enthralled with me, Jim.”

Icy dread slowly spread across his body and made his hands twitch in jerky spasms that he tried valiantly to hide from the silent man in front of him, as he finally said the one thing that nearly broke him in two, “Have you interest in me because you think of me as a... female? Because you saw what the Andorians have done to my person?”

 

Kirk’s ears filled with a nearly deafening roar after that last question from Spock. The eyes looking at him were huge and vulnerable and full of a misery that seemed to tear him apart.

He wanted to shy away from the subject; wanted to jump up from the couch and prowl through the room to get rid of the agitation that had seized him. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

This was exactly the subject they needed to talk about. This was why they were sitting here, staring at each other with a mixture of unhappy betrayal and desperate hope.

‘Is this what keeps him awake at night? He thinks he is no man after what they have done to him? And what am I doing? I am constantly comparing him to women I knew. I only see him as male as in ‘opposite to female’. But he is so much more than just a male body... God what have I done to him the whole time?’ the Captain thought dejectedly, clenching his fists at his side and forcing himself to keep looking at Spock.

“No, Spock. I don’t think of you as a female. But I have to admit, that I have compared you to them. It is the only way that I can make any sense out of the simple fact that I... I feel really drawn to you. You are my best friend, but I believe that this whole... thing between us – “ he gestured between them, while the Vulcan just simply watched, “ – was a long time coming. At least for me. I guess I was simply in denial that this bond between us has long ago crossed the line of mere friendship and... what is wrong?” he said with concern, when he saw the Vulcan ever so slightly wince.

Spock looked away and was quiet for a moment, before he said with a low voice, “This bond that you are talking about. I have cause to believe that the... I’ki sa-kai bond we share is considerably more involved than I previously thought possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am not entirely sure, I would have to observe it much more closely, but it seems that your mere physical presence can balance the chemicals in my brain, whereas only 17.89 hours prior I required your touch upon my person. Something in the past day must have changed the psychic patterns between us, causing the bond to strengthen to this degree.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed in contemplation and he slowly sat back, looking at the austere Vulcan at his side with a brow that was furrowed while his brain tried to find anything that could have caused this change.

However, he could not pinpoint it, so he switched to the next, more pressing question, “Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t know, Jim. I am not adequately educated in these branch of the Vulcan arts,” Spock said with perfect calmness, eying his friend with those gentle, dark eyes. Kirk sighed and let his head fall back against the backrest.

“Great. Another problem. So what do we do?”

“I would suggest a shore leave at Vulcan at the next most opportune time in order to consult with one of the healers.”

 

Jim was silent and had his eyes still closed. Spock let him be for the moment, just observing him intently. When he felt that enough time had passed, he said as confidently as possible, “I would like to ask you another question that is not concerning the bond.”

One hazel eye opened and fixed him with a stare that reminded him instantly of a lion that was pretending to be asleep but in reality was lying in wait for a victim to come by.

“Yes? We are here to discuss what is going on at the moment. So just... ask away.”

Spock didn’t feel very comfortable discussing such intimate subjects. He was not accustomed to speaking about his feelings and the question lying on his tongue made him nearly physically ill.

Nevertheless, the Vulcan was no coward. So he valiantly tried to keep his voice even and his face devoid of all emotions while he said, “I understand that relationships between humans such as we seem to be about to engage in are for the most part extraordinary... physical.”

He turned his head slightly, staring straight ahead and forcing his numb lips to form the next words, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to serve you in the way you need. However, you are a highly tactile creature, Jim. I can’t expect from you to – “

“Spock.” Jim had straightened with a snap, looking intently at the Vulcan. His jaw was slightly moving and Spock had the suspicion that he was currently chewing on his tongue. When Jim spoke again, he tentatively raised one hand to Spock’s face. The Vulcan could not hold back the slight flinch although he knew with dead precision that Jim wouldn’t harm him. The instinctive reactions of his body, however, seemed nearly insurmountable to wrestle down in his current condition.

 

“I won’t pressure you into anything you are not ready for. We go this one step at a time. This whole situation is not only new to you. I never had a long term relationship and I have never been involved with a guy. We just need to... figure this out. Okay?” Kirk said, slowly cupping the strong jaw with one callused hand.

Spock did not look convinced. His dark eyes were sad and his hands were shaking again. Kirk scooted closer on the couch, but Spock halted him with quiet words.

“You won’t be happy with me, Jim. I am... broken. I am of no use in any relationship in this condition. I simply can not expect from you to live in celibacy.”

Kirk blew a long breath. He felt anxiety tightening his gut. He wanted to be optimistic. He wanted to be optimistic _so bad_ , but it was hard in the face of Spock speaking his own fears so clearly.

They had been chasing themselves in his head in circles ever since he first started realizing how deep his affection for Spock ran and how badly the Vulcan had been hurt – mentally – by the rape.

His grip on the Vulcan’s face tightened and he pressed his eyes close. He wanted Spock. He _wanted_ him. He could not imagine a life without this gentle being constantly at his side.

He simply didn’t want to look reality in the face and accept it.

When he felt desperate, hot breath on his face, he did not open his eyes again. He knew that Spock must’ve felt his desperation as well as his thoughts loud and clear through the contact.

Without thinking he crushed their mouths together, fisting his left hand into Spock’s dusty blue shirt. When Spock did not only _not_ pull away but also pressed closer to him, despite his frantic, hard handling of the man, he sobbed in elation.

Encouraged by slender hands with long fingers that fisted themselves helplessly in the front of his shirt, he swiped a demanding tongue across those firm, velvet lips.

Spock gasped, drawing his head back with a jerk. Kirk very nearly whimpered.

“No, no... please. Please don’t pull away. Spock...” he croaked, loosening the fist in Spock’s shirt in order to grab his head with both hands, frantically rubbing his thumbs over Spock’s cheek bones.

Vulnerable, large eyes stared equally desperately back at him. Kirk breathed raggedly and pressed his forehead against the feverishly hot counterpart of the Vulcan.

“You can do this, Spock. You can. You will manage this; I know you. You can manage _everything_. Just please, Spock... Don’t turn me down. Not now. Please,” he pleaded almost like a child, his voice high pitched and trembling.

They were driving each other slowly up the walls; desperation and the frantic fear of being separated coursed from Kirk to Spock, assaulting seemingly all nerve endings of the Vulcan and setting his body on fire, causing him to loose control of his facial expression, which very clearly spoke to the Captain in return. Harsh breathing was to be heard in the room and Kirk’s stomach lurched painfully when Spock emitted a low keening sound, before hotter-than-human lips were against his own once more and the incredibly pointed tip of the alien tongue clumsily swiped over the plump bottom lip of the Captain.

Electricity shot through Kirk’s body. It didn’t matter that Spock was so obviously inexperienced; it didn’t matter that they were both panting as if they had run a marathon; it didn’t matter that they were practically clawing at each other in their attempt to get closer, closer, more, now.

Kirk tried himself at patience, when he opened his lips in order to greet the curiously pointed tip. Spock’s hot breath ghosted over his face, when the Vulcan blew out a breath; Kirk was not so sure if fear or surprise was the root of it.

The Captain had to consciously force himself to calm down, when he tilted his head slightly to the side and slipped his tongue past the other man’s lips and fluttered against the slippery muscle he found there.

The men seemed to positively merge with each other; thighs pressed as close together as possible, fingers gripping alternatively at clothes or hair, searching for better purchase, while they were drowning in the luxurious pleasure of the wet sliding of two tongues against each other.

Spock was tentative and shy, only following the lead of the Captain, feeling a tight pressure in his belly, when the agile, knowing tongue of Kirk twined around his own.

Every now and again, high, involuntary sounds were escaping the Vulcan throat; they were shooting straight into Kirk’s groin, where his phallus was quickly gaining interest in the current activities.

The human slowly loosened one hand that was currently gripping Spock’s upper arm none too gently and placed it between his own legs, palming his erection through the fabric that seemed way too tight right now.

The rumbling moan escaping his throat was met by a soft sound from the Vulcan. Kirk felt dizzy; Spock tasted incredible; exotic and new and fresh and oh-so-warm. He simply could not stop, lapping at the inside of the alien mouth or playing with the shy tongue that he soon found out was incredibly agile.

He played with the tip that had fascinated him from the moment he had first seen it and savoured the feel of it when Spock tentatively placed tiny, kittenish licks across his bottom lip – seemingly not yet comfortable with the idea of taking advantage of the invitingly opened human mouth that was panting sweet breath inside him.

Spock felt like he was connected with a live wire; everything in him tingled and tickled and he would have never expected the pleasure that came out of breathing another human’s wasted air.

However, everything immediately stopped being pleasurable, when he felt a large, callused hand cup his groin, which he only now realized was tight with an almost angrily pulsating erection that he had up to this point ignored totally.

 

Kirk had been so curious... Was Spock as turned on as he was? The Vulcan seemed so responsive to his every move. Thoughts of the tip of that wicked tongue and where it would feel even better than on his mouth, were drifting though his head.

‘And we were afraid he could not do this... hell!’ he thought dizzily, giving his erection a last, loving squeeze, before tentatively creeping over to the other lap with his hand.

He wanted to grin through the heated kiss, when it settled on an impressive, hard bulge, that twitched lively under his careful touch.

‘My, my... what have we here? Are you happy to see me, Mr. Spock?’ he thought with amusement and just wanted to rub the heel of his hand tentatively across it, when the Vulcan suddenly broke the kiss and shoved him away with an ease that reminded him quite thoroughly of just how much more powerful Spock was.

“Wha-?” he asked confused, looking at a face that was as pale as a ghost, while Spock pressed one hand tightly to his mouth.

“Please excuse me,” came the forced reply, as Spock stiffly got up from the couch and – not really fled, but walked _very_ briskly towards the bathroom.

Kirk sat dumbfounded on the couch with an erection that was screaming abuse at him and a heart that was still beating in his ears like a jungle drum, while he tried to figure out what the hell just happened.

When he heard retching out of the bathroom, his rampant emotions were sobered quite suddenly as if a bucket full of ice water had been emptied over his head.

He slowly raised himself onto unsteady legs and made his way very carefully over towards the bathroom, where a Vulcan was currently obviously curled around the toilet, being violently sick.

‘’Please excuse me,’ he said... like he was just stepping out of the room to get fresh air; not like he was about to puke his intestines out,’ he thought with curious detachment.

Kirk carefully pushed the door open and stood a few moments in the doorway, staring at a picture he never would’ve thought he would ever see: Spock being violently sick.

The Vulcan was always so full of quiet dignity and above all baser human needs that it had seemed impossible for him to do something as... degrading as kneeling before a toilet inside the bathroom of some alien race, forcing all meals from the past hours out of his stomach.

When there were only forceful dry heaves to be heard, Kirk slowly went over to the miserable creature. Silently he took a washcloth, held it under cold water and went back towards the shivering Vulcan. Spock was still convulsing every now and again. He did not sweat – Kirk wasn’t even sure if Vulcans were able to do so – but his face was doughy and he was panting short, harsh gasps.

The Captain flushed the toilet, before he slowly crouched down and started to clean the face of his best friend. Spock tried turning away.

“Don’t...”

“Shh,” he said. It sounded harsh, but his face was everything but. He felt wretched; he had done this to Spock in his unwitting intention to show them both that they could make it happen. He had let himself be taken away by the wave of elation and desperation he had been riding and had not thought of the gentle creature he was forcefully taking with him.

“I’m sorry, Spock. I was too quick. It was too soon,” he said with a low, husky voice.

The Vulcan did not answer. He was shivering and it was obvious that he felt horrible.

“Come. I put you to bed,” the Captain murmured, gripping Spock under the arms and helping the man up. Spock was not resisting. He seemed to be as shaken as a little child. Pale and miserable looking and – to Kirk’s never ending shame – leaning on him full of trust.

“How can you stand to touch me?” Kirk whispered dejectedly, when he sat Spock gently down on the bed. The Vulcan raised exhausted, large chocolate brown eyes towards him and just shook his head.

Kirk tried again, “I have pushed you too far. I have caused you harm. Why do you trust me?”

Something in his voice must have shown his desperation, for Spock sighed nearly inaudibly and croaked with a ragged baritone, “You don’t have it in you to cause harm deliberately.”

Kirk’s hackles started to rise. That was not true...! That was simply...

“That’s not true. I can...”

“I know you, Jim. You are simply not capable of – “

“You don’t know _anything_ about me!” Kirk spat but immediately regretted his harsh exclamation, when he saw Spock flinch.

“Sorry,” the Captain whispered, lowering his gaze.

Silence reigned over them for a moment until Spock raised his hand and took tentatively hold of Kirk’s.

The human reluctantly looked up into tired soulful eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“Please lie down with me.”

Kirk jerked.

“You... are sure?”

“Positive.”

It was an awkward affair at first. They were feeling uncertain and distinctly off-balance. It took endless minutes until the silent shuffling and the soft pulling and pushing at the other body ceased and they finally found a position that allowed the sharp, masculine angles of their bodies to fit comfortably together.

It was curious to hold another man so close. Curious, but comforting. Especially after all this emotional upheaval.

Thankfully, none of the men dreamed that night; they were only aware of the scent of the other being inhaled every now and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your heads-up that there are still people reading this story XD I was absolutely overwhelmed :)
> 
> Next chapter will be the last... *sighs*


	21. Chapter 21

Kirk stood proud in the middle of the room he and his crew had been teleported to just two days prior. His broad shoulders were thrown back and his back was ramrod straight, while he held his chin high in an almost arrogant gesture.

He was looking good; vital and full of raw, masculine energy in the golden shirt that was stretching itself deliciously over his muscles. He knew it; even if it had not been for the shy, longing glances Princess Klena was throwing him.

And yet he didn’t feel powerful or Captain-ly in the least, right now.

The current affair was awkward and stilted, peppered with antagonistic glances Prince Krohk threw him and the fact that he had awoken this morning without Spock, who had already been up and about, delving in his findings from yesterday and valiantly trying not to reference the ending of last night in any way.

Kirk threw his First Officer a surreptitious glance out of the corner of his eyes. Spock stood a little to his right, hands clasped behind his back and stoically waiting for the party around the ambassador – consisting out of six Archnids, Prince and Princess included – to say their farewells to the family members gathered. It was a long journey to Triton II, the planet where the conference would be held and they would not see each other for at least 4 months.

‘I can’t wait to get back onto the Ship,’ the Captain thought longingly and forced himself to a dazzling smile, when King and Queen walked towards him in order to say their farewells. He had no idea what they were saying; he was way more interested in the burning presence of the Vulcan at his side.

 

Spock allowed himself to blow a breath out that could be very nearly described as a sigh, when the door to his quarters closed behind him and the familiar, dry heat surrounded his body comfortingly. It was 2257 on the dot and the day had been... taxing.

He had not known how to behave when he had awoken right next to his Captain. Jim. Their arms had still been around one another and the smooth, golden forehead of the human had been intimately pressed against his, so their breaths were mingling between them in an oddly satisfactory fashion.

The prospect, though, that Jim would awake and those hazel eyes would fix upon him with that mix of trepidation and apology they had held right before they had entered the bed, was something he definitely did not relish.

He had to think about the shameful way he had acted in front of the human and it had been enough to drive him out of the silent sanctuary of the narrow bed. The desolation radiating from Jim, when he had finally awoken had been nearly enough to crush the Vulcan under its weight.

Even though Jim still was across the room, Spock could clearly feel his emotions – and their had been nothing benign about them. Jim had been suffering due to Spock’s unresponsiveness. But what could he have done? What could he have said?

He had been totally overwhelmed by the sudden nausea when Jim had touched his phallus through the layers of clothing. Nausea and a surprising wave of shame over the fact that he had responded in such a strong fashion towards the human.

Spock slowly rolled his shoulders and stared contemplating down to the floor of his quarters. Back up on the Enterprise they had been obligated to personally show their guests to their quarters. An affair that was still heavily lying in the Vulcan’s stomach. Jim’s proximity had him allowed not only to feel the reluctance of his Captain, but also the rather negative feelings from their two royal guests. After this long time of abstinence it had been unduly difficult to analyze and compartmentalize the emotions from the other beings.

After they had been finished, they had had to conduct a meeting with Chief Engineer Scott and Lieutenant Sulu in order to get briefed on everything that had happened during their absence on the Ship.

Spock nearly shivered as he recalled the sudden drop in temperature when Mr. Scott had reluctantly told them about new orders from Starfleet. They were to take up cargo and deliver it to another planet while on their way to Triton II.

The Vulcan could almost understand the reluctance of the Scotsman, after witnessing the face of his Captain when he heard the news. Obviously Starfleet still was... unsatisfied with them. Jim _hated_ it, when the Enterprise was exploited as a cargo Ship.

So it had not only been Jim that had felt miserable and agitated the whole day, but also Spock, who clearly felt all the negative emotions rolling off of the Captain. He had therefore retreated into the Science labs in an effort to calm down, but even 5.6 hours later, he still felt restless and almost twitchy – a condition that was highly irregular for the Vulcan.

Dark eyes slowly swept through his quarters. For a few seconds they were resting on the fire idol that was gently glowing in his sleeping area. However, the prospect of meditating was not as soothing as it normally was. In fact, the thought of sitting down and delving deeper into the almost destructive emotions was distasteful to the Vulcan.

The next item he laid his eyes on was the Vulcan harp, which stood innocently upon the same cushion he had carefully placed it a couple of days ago.

His fingers twitched longingly. Oh how he yearned to play her once more; to hear the clear, distinct tones of the strings soothe his frayed nerves. But it was hopeless.

Spock slowly held his hands up, staring at them solemnly. They had been calm and precise as long as the Captain was near him; but now they were back to their twitching, shivering state.

‘Am I to be dependent on him for the rest of my life?’ the Vulcan thought with a sinking feeling. An emotion was bubbling up inside him that he could only identify after a few confused moments as panic trying to overtake him.

Pictures of the disaster the day before as well as snippets of this past day were dancing through his mind’s eye, causing his chest to start heaving and the Vulcan heart in his side to start fluttering, until –

“Enough!” he said into the room with a low, but distinct voice. He would not let himself be reigned by his emotions. He would not wither and shrivel. He would _not_ let this inability of his drive a wedge between Jim and him.

Spock was a man of intellect, a scientist and a thinker. But he also was a warrior – even if he didn’t always like to admit it.

The Vulcan walked determined towards the harp and carefully took her out of the shelf. It was time to face his demons and put his life back together.

 

Kirk was lying on his bunk, his arms crossed behind his head and staring at the ceiling. He slowly turned his head after a while and glanced at the clock. 2344. Perfect. So he was lying awake for nearly two hours now and could for the life of him not get any shuteye.

And why was that? Because he constantly thought of the wreck that had been his day. Not enough that these idiots in Starfleet were degrading his lady and his crew to mere delivery boys, he also had had virtually no word exchanged with Spock since the night before.

‘Should I leave him be? Or should I go talk to him?’ he thought and rubbed his hands over his face with an annoyed moan. Everything had been eternally more easy when they had been just friends. This whole sexual component was – although surprisingly exciting and pleasant – obviously not as easy manageable for the two of them as the start of their friendship had been.

Kirk sighed and sat up, rolling his shoulders and seizing his pyjama top that he had discarded before lying down on his bunk. When he was to try and make this happen, he should probably not scare his prey off right from the get-go.

His stride was purposeful, when he walked next door and he had a determined gleam in his hazel eyes. For a second his hand wanted to raise and buzz at the door of the Vulcan’s quarters, but he quickly thought better of it. They were a... couple, were they not? He should have the privilege of entering and leaving the quarters of Spock as he saw fit. Right?

He narrowed his eyes slightly at the door, contemplating his decision, until he heard footsteps coming down the corridor. And the Captain really did not want to be seen by any of his crewmen in the middle of the night standing in his pyjamas in front of the quarters of the First Officer like a kicked puppy.

So the decision was rather effectively made for him and his override code allowed him within seconds to slip inside the almost uncomfortably hot quarters of Spock.

The first thing he noticed, was the fact that the heat seemed to emphasize the scent of the Vulcan. All the little hair on his body started to rise, when the smell of sand and desert wafted around his being; his lips gave a wry, amused tug, when he felt his dick twitch in response to the delectable odour.

‘I have it real bad...’ he thought and finally concentrated on his surroundings. His eyebrows shot up, when he heard – and saw – Spock playing his harp. The man was sitting on the narrow, uncomfortable couch he had and cradled the expensive instrument in his right arm, while he plucked with the left one at the strings. The slanted eyebrows were furrowed in intense concentration and Kirk nearly held his breath in order not to disturb the gentle creature.

He had to be really out of it, when he was so fixed on what he was doing that he didn’t even notice the Captain entering.

Hazel eyes slowly drifted downwards from the down turned face towards the plucking hands. He winced, when he saw the way the joints seemed to block themselves every now and again in a spastic movement; there was nothing of the smooth, elegant swipes the Vulcan usually utilized while playing. It looked more like a robot trying to play the sensitive instrument – and that also was, what it sounded like.

Kirk slightly shifted his weight from one foot to another. He felt like he was intruding on something. Maybe he should go away and not humiliate Spock further by standing here and listening to his failed attempt to –

“Jim,” Spock said. The velvet baritone ensnaring the Captain once more, who sighed deeply in response.

“Spock, I... I’m sorry. I didn’t want to intrude. I go again, shall I?” he murmured and quickly turned towards the door.

“Why are you here?”

The human hesitated. Spock sounded calm and mildly curious – not at all upset or agitated, although having been caught at his abysmal attempt. Kirk slowly looked back over his shoulder towards the man.

“I couldn’t sleep. I thought...”

“The day has not been satisfactory.”

“No. Not really.”

“You wanted to sleep here?”

Kirk’s mouth fell slightly open and his gut started to tighten. He began wiping his sweaty palms surreptitiously at his pyjama bottoms, while he turned around again in order to face the Vulcan that was sitting calm and collected on the couch.

No words were coming forth; for the first time his tongue was simply paralyzed. Slowly, as if he was in a dream, he nodded. Chocolate brown eyes scrutinized him intently for a few moments, before the austere, stern face became neutral and Spock slowly came to his feet. The movement was graceful and fluid, reminding Kirk again of a panther that was circling his prey.

He closed his eyes, willing his cock to behave; he prayed that Spock didn’t see the way his loose trousers started to bulge slightly.

When he dared to take another peek, a silent gasp made its way out of his throat. Spock had put the harp on its place in the shelf and had made his way towards him without a sound.

The men stood in front of each other – close enough that they could feel the differing body temperatures. When Spock raised his hand, his fingers slightly traced the sharp angle of Kirk’s jaw, causing the Captain to slowly close his eyes.

A shiver ran down the human’s spine, when he heard the velvet baritone voice command the Ship’s computer to drop the temperature to a more acceptable heat.

“You don’t have to – “ Kirk began, but was silenced by a pair of firm, hot lips on his. When Spock raised his head again after a few seconds, the look in the gentle eyes was intense and as affectionate as Kirk had ever seen it. His throat closed off in reaction; suddenly he had the feeling that he was not worthy of Spock. Not worthy of the way this closed off Vulcan started to open himself up to him like a delicate flower.

Spock shook his head.

“No. Don’t think that. You have given me so much more in the past months, Jim. I can not hope to give even a fraction of it back to you. However...” A second hand rose and now both of them were cupping the golden, handsome face, tilting it slightly upwards towards him and gazing into the changeable hazel eyes, “... you came to me, because you were looking for comfort. And I will try to give it to you.”

Protest and indignation flared in the face of the human and he tried to extricate himself from the grip of long, slender hands.

“I’m no child. I didn’t look for comfort,” he growled and felt inexplicably nervous. Spock only shook his head, leaning forward and pressing his hot forehead against the cool one.

“You don’t have to hide from me. And I won’t hide from you. Let me comfort you, Jim,” he murmured, pressing another kiss on stubbornly pursed lips.

“I’m not a little kid, Spock...” Kirk murmured, his eyes averted from the curious chocolate eyes. He felt a slow blush of hurt, male pride creep up his neck and felt even more exposed. The Captain broke away from the firm, Vulcan grasp with a growl and drew his broad shoulders slightly up to his ears.

“Forget it. It was a stupid idea. I’m going back to my room,” he croaked, voice hoarse and scratchy and desperately trying to hide the shaking in his hands.

“No. Come with me,” Spock said without any real inflection in that Vulcan voice of his. He took hold of one broad, calloused worker’s hand and pulled the reluctant human with himself towards the bed. Kirk felt distinctly off-balance. The calmness and authority Spock was exuding right now was something he had not been prepared for. Not after the way the gentle creature had shied away from him the whole day.

He was pressed down onto the bed by insistent hands and a stern voice told him to ‘wait here, please.’

Spock disappeared into his bathroom and left a slightly puzzled Kirk sitting on his bed. The man felt alternatively hot and cold and chewed on his lower lip until he realized what he was doing and quickly stopped it.

When the Vulcan came back, he was wearing the same Starfleet-issued regulation pyjama as Kirk. The two men looked at each other from across the short distance of a meter. Kirk still sitting and Spock standing. Time seemed to freeze for a long moment, until Spock seemed to shake himself out of his reverie and came towards the human.

No words were exchanged when they slowly crawled into the bed and carefully started fitting their bodies together again. The pleasurable press and sliding of the two hard bodies against each other, caused their breath to start coming in little pants and silent gasps. However, once they were lying comfortably tucked against one another, they closed their eyes, letting the presence of the other man seep into them.

 

.oO Day 2 of the journey to Triton II Oo.

 

Kirk strode into Spock’s room like he owned the place and let himself plop down onto the couch with an angry growl. The Vulcan looked up from the PADD he was currently perusing at his desk and slightly raised the silky, slanted eyebrows, when he saw the frustration of his Captain. He looked towards the clock. 1912. He slowly laid his PADD to the side and clasped his hands together, waiting for Kirk to start his little rant.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Six weeks until we arrive at Triton II. Six weeks in which the Federation can – and probably will – send us on every milk run imaginable. I just can’t _stand_ it,” the Captain growled, curling his right hand into a fist and ramming it down onto the couch. Spock slightly tilted his head to the side.

“We should have anticipated their reaction when we went against their orders and interfered on Prechta,” the Vulcan said calmly.

Kirk shot him a baleful look.

“That does not mean, that I have to like it,” he spat and shot up again from the couch in order to prowl through the room in agitation. Spock was watching the lion in silent adoration; the way the thick muscles perfectly played with one another was hypnotizing.

“No, you probably don’t have to like it,” he murmured a bit lamely; he was too occupied with the curious tingling deep in his belly.

 

A few hours later they were both lying in Spock’s bunk once more. Lazy kisses were exchanged; the delectable, wet slide of two tongues was causing their breaths to come in short, little gasps. Lips were clinging against one another in slow little sucking motions and hands were carefully petting silky blonde and black hair.

Only the panting breaths and the rustling of their clothes was to be heard inside the silent room. It was very... nice.

Until Kirk slightly slid his hips towards the Vulcan and let him feel the hot, hard length of his erection that was straining against the fabric of his loose pyjama bottoms. It was like a bucket of water was drowned over the Vulcan’s head and his whole body seized up.

Kirk wordlessly cursed and quickly brought a distance between their lower bodies – but it didn’t bring the moment back. So they just waited in awkward silence that was weighing down heavily upon them until the human’s erection had flagged and they could try to find sleep.

‘At least he did not puke again...’ Kirk thought dejectedly.

 

.oO Day 4 of the journey to Triton II Oo.

 

He only slipped with his hand under Spock’s pyjama top. He only had wanted to feel that hot, silky skin against his calloused fingertips. But it obviously had been too much for the Vulcan, who had nearly dislodged his arm when he gripped it in a startled reaction and drew it forcefully out from under his clothing.

Again their was an awkward silence reigning.

 

.oO Day 8 of the journey to Triton II Oo.

 

Kirk stood in the shower stall, frantically rubbing his angry, pulsing erection, while he pressed his forehead against the cool tiles. It was early in the morning, but Spock was already up and about; he had to observe an experiment in Science Lab 8, which gave the human the opportunity to take care of the ‘little’ problem that had arisen 8 days ago and simply was not getting any remedy.

He knew Spock didn’t make it on purpose. He knew that the Vulcan really tried and that it were purely psychological, instinctual reactions that were causing the man to seize up as soon as their tentative groping went over to heavy petting.

But that didn’t mean that his dick could understand the situation of constantly being engaged in the activity only to be shamelessly ignored. It hurt; not only mentally, but also physically. Kirk was not used to this kind of abstinence and it made the situation increasingly more difficult.

A low moan rumbled out of the depths of his throat, when he rubbed his thumb over the engorged head of his dick, swirling the moisture that had gathered in the slit around the sensitive skin and turning slightly until the hot water of the shower was drumming between his shoulder blades. He closed his eyes and thought of a hot, hard body that felt so exceptionally new and exiting against his own. Kirk bit on his tongue, reaching down with his other hand and cradling his heavy balls in his spread fingers, tentatively rolling them; feeling the hard orbs shift in the sensitive skin.

“NNnggh...” he moaned inarticulately, while his fist started to fly up and down the rigid, thick shaft of his manhood.

It was the thought of gentle, brown eyes that finally brought him to an earth shattering climax that robbed him of any breath for the next, few seconds.

 

.oO Day 10 of the journey to Triton II Oo.

 

Kirk was reading a report from an accident in Engineering, while Spock sat on the couch in the Captain’s quarters, his Vulcan harp in his lap. Kirk did not comment upon the failed attempts of the Vulcan to force his fingers into smoother patterns; he was way too humbled by the mere fact that Spock let him in on this. It made him feel like they were progressing somehow – despite their failure to achieve anything in bed.

 

.oO Day 13 of the journey to Triton II Oo.

 

“Did you read the new orders?” Kirk was positively fuming, when he stormed into the Vulcan’s quarters and started to prowl agitatedly through the room. Spock sat behind his desk; the very document Kirk spoke of currently on view on the screen of his computer.

It was no surprise that the Captain was here only 10 minutes after its arrival. The Vulcan slowly leaned back and clasped his hands in front of his stomach. He could understand Kirk’s indignation. Another milk run. It really was a disgrace; but he would not say it out loud.

“We don’t have any choice, Jim,” Spock said silently, watching intently the long strides of his Captain, who only growled angrily.

The corners of Spock’s mouth curled upwards ever so slightly. Kirk had come to him in order to vent his frustration. Not to Mr. Scott or Doctor McCoy. No – he went to him.

‘He feels secure with me...’ he thought and savoured the warmth that was pooling through his stomach.

“Do you want to spar?”

Kirk stopped dead in his track and stared slightly dumbfounded at Spock. The Vulcan could understand the human’s surprise; he normally was very reluctant to fight with any of his human crewmembers. His superior strength was simply too dangerous in his opinion. However, he knew that Kirk immensely enjoyed the rare occasions he had managed to convince Spock to spar with him; the Captain just loved the challenge.

A huge grin spread on Kirk’s face and Spock felt a little bit smug.

 

.oO Day 20 of their journey to Triton II Oo.

 

A low moan that had nothing to do with the very enjoyable activity from a few moments prior, tore out of Kirk’s throat and he rolled onto his back with an annoyed huff. Damn it, it had only been his thigh! He had only rubbed it against Spock’s crotch. He had only wanted to know if the Vulcan at least somehow enjoyed what they were doing.

But the lean body had frozen – yet again. His erection was pulsing in time with his frantic heart beat and it was twitching in his loose pyjama bottoms.

The Captain threw his arms with an angry growl across his face, until...

“I am sorry, Jim,” came the whispered, slightly choked voice of Spock.

The Vulcan never had said anything after their failed encounters. None of them had said anything. He slowly turned his head, gazing into the gentle, desolate eyes of the creature next to him and felt his ire melt away in the face of Spock’s clear struggle with himself. His blew out a slow breath and stretched one arm.

“It’s not your fault. Come here,” he murmured and the man slid after a moment of hesitation into the embrace. They clung to each other like lost children for the rest of the night.

 

.oO Day 25 of their journey to Triton II Oo.

 

“Tell me about Tarsus IV, Jim.”

They were lying in the Captain’s bed; both of them sleepy and exhausted after another sparring session with one another. It was surprisingly satisfactorily to playfully fight with the human; he suspected a large part of his enjoyment was coming from the fact that Jim simply loved sparring and fighting so much that it trickled over the bond they were sharing towards him.

The body in his arms stiffened and Kirk’s head snapped upwards.

“What?” he hissed and drew his eyebrows together. Spock looked calmly at him and tightened the grasp of his arms around the trim waist.

“Please tell me about your time on Tarsus IV, Jim,” he repeated silently. Reluctance and stubbornness closed the handsome face of his Captain off and the golden head turned away.

“Why would you want to know?”

“Because I’d like to know every aspect of your life. And I have the feeling that the experiences on Tarsus IV still are very present in your daily interactions with other people,” he said logically and watched intently the face of the other man.

Kirk shook his head and turned away from Spock. They didn’t have much room to navigate in the close confines of their bunks, so they had to be careful not to accidentally fall out.

“There isn’t much to tell,” the human said. Spock watched the broad shoulders and the strong back of his best friend and slowly reached one hand out in order to place it between slightly shivering shoulder blades.

“Will you tell me someday, Jim?” he asked silently. Silence answered him for a long time and he almost thought the human was already asleep, when there was a silent, high pitched, “Yes.”

“Then that’s enough for me. Thank you,” the Vulcan said with dignity and great respect, before gathering the stubborn, proud man into his arms and spooning behind him.

 

.oO Day 28 of their journey to Triton II Oo.

 

Kirk was sitting in Observation Deck 4. He just had had a meeting with the Alpha Shift crew and still felt a little agitated about their talk. Slowly but surely their weekly meetings had developed into highly philosophical debates that left him more often than not contemplating life in all its forms. It was a very curious notion for the hot headed, temperamental Captain and so he often remained in his seat even while the others already were long gone, nursing his drink with both hands and letting his mind come to a semblance of rest.

Tonight, however, it seemed nearly impossible. He was on edge and twitchy and the feeling only got worse over the course of the last week; it was also slowly beginning to impair his command decisions. That in turn made him distinctly annoyed with himself. And Kirk knew better than to enter the rooms of his friend when he was in such a mood; Spock could pick his emotions up like nothing else and Kirk had witnessed often in the past weeks how he had the power to greatly influence what Spock was feeling. He didn’t want to burden the gentle creature by exposing him to his rampant emotions.

“Captain Kirk?”

The tentative voice startled him out of his reverie and he nearly sloshed the liquid in his glass across his lap in his haste to sit upright in the armchair he had been slouching in.

“Um... yes?... Princess Klena..!” he said, the surprise evident in his voice, when he saw the slender figure of the woman in front of him.

He had to say that he had nearly forgotten about his Archnidian passengers. He had practically not seen them since their departure from Tchikon 5 and he was immensely glad for it. Nonetheless, he tried to keep his face neutral as he was looking up to the young woman. She was as beautiful as he remembered her. Her wings were fluttering nervously behind her, causing a slight buzzing to fill the room.

“How can I help you?” he asked in a more professional tone. The young woman was wringing her hands and her big compound eyes were looking shyly at the Captain.

“To be honest I thought, that I could help... you, Captain. You don’t seem to be very happy right now,” she said, taking a step towards him. Kirk’s throat closed off and he stared speechless at her for a few seconds, before he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me...? What do you mean?” he said and cursed himself for how hoarse his voice was sounding.

“I have watched you these past weeks, Captain...”

“You have...?” he cleared his throat, when his voice came out as an undignified squeak and he tried again with a more measured, “You have.”

Huh. He hadn’t even noticed it. Normally his sixth sense for beautiful women was foolproof. Princess Klena stepped even closer; their knees were almost touching.

“Yes I have, Captain. Very intently, if I might add. And you are desperate, are you not? It is obvious that your bond with Mr. Spock is not entirely to your... satisfaction,” she said with a low voice that was gaining in confidence. She slowly leaned down towards him, so their faces were mere inches apart. Kirk could smell the sweet, feminine scent emanating from her and his eyes flicked for the fraction of a second down towards her bosom that was delectably displayed before him.

Urges, that have been denied for nearly a month now, sprang to life with a vengeance. One hand gripped the glass tighter, while the other one curled around the armrest of the chair.

“This is highly inappropriate, Princess – “ he began with a choked voice, but was interrupted by her small, delicate hand, that gently took the glass out of his grasp and placed it on the low table beside the armchair.

“I could make you so much more happy, Captain. I’d be such a good mate to you; I promise,” she whispered and suddenly he had his lap full of a squirming, female body that was perfectly undulating its hips against him.

His head fell back against the headrest without his volition and a rumbling moan made its way out of his throat.

The soft, delicate body pressed itself against him and he could smell her sweet breath, when she brought her face close to his, her mouth open and panting.

“Say yes, Captain. Please; say yes,” she begged, writhing delectably against him, while pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to his lips.

God but how good it felt; he curled his arms around her body, closing his eyes and – freezing in his tracks.

He was not hard. After one month of a constant case of blue balls, he had a more than willing, beautiful woman throwing herself at him – and he was as flaccid as he could get. Everything felt... wrong, for lack of a better term. The soft body against his felt wrong; the supple lips trying to coax him into reciprocation felt wrong. The flowery, sweet scent permeating his very being was wrong.

“Captain...?” Princess Klena whispered, her compound eyes huge and beseeching in her delicate face. Kirk slowly opened his eyes and looked at her. Jesus; who’d have known that the day would come in which James T. Kirk would refuse the advances of such a beautiful creature?

“No,” he said silently, gently raising her from his lap and standing her on her feet, while he himself got out of the armchair. She stared at him obviously confused, her lips slightly trembling.

“N-No? But... but why?” she whispered, curling her fingers into the fabric of his golden shirt. Gently but nonetheless insistently he pried them off his being, holding the tiny hands in his and just shaking his head.

“I just can’t. I belong to him now.”

And how right these words felt. How utterly right.

When he turned around and left the room he felt a bit sad for the utter desolation he had witnessed in the Princess’ features, standing alone now in Observation Deck 4; but mainly he felt fierce elation, for he had a plan...

 

“Spock. I am a genius,” he declared, when he strode into the heated quarters of the Vulcan. Said Vulcan was currently sitting on his narrow couch, plucking with determination at his harp. Spock looked up, stilling the movements of his jerky hands and slightly tilting his head to one side.

“Of course you are; if a very unorthodox one,” he conceded, a mischievous light in his eyes. Kirk grinned and strode towards him.

“Oh no, no. Stay were you are. You are perfect over there,” he said, when Spock got ready to stand up in order to put the harp away. The Vulcan watched him with silent curiosity but did not question him.

‘Very good,’ Kirk thought. He started to feel nervous and clamped hard down on it; it wouldn’t do in the least if Spock started to get twitchy because he felt the nervousness of his friend. Kirk took the harp gently out of Spock’s grasp and strode towards the shelf, where he placed her with the utmost care. Then he walked back towards the Vulcan, sitting down on the other side of the couch and eying him across the distance separating them.

Spock’s eyebrows twitched minutely in obvious confusion because of the unusual position of his Captain, but was willing to wait and see what he was up to.

When he wanted to command the Ships temperature down so it would suit the physiology of the Captain better, Jim interrupted him.

“No, leave it the way it is. The warmth is better.”

“Better for what, Jim?” Spock asked; he just could not quench his curiosity. A strange light entered the hazel eyes of the man at his side and that deep red tongue he so intimately knew by now, flicked out in order to moisten pale, pink lips.

“May I take off my shirt, Spock?” the human said quietly, never leaving his gaze.

Kirk could see that the Vulcan was slightly taken aback by his request. Nudity has as of yet been no part in their relationship; and he intended to change it now. They needed to finally break that blockade Spock was having, if they wanted to be together in every possible way.

Gentle, brown eyes flicked slightly away and Spock slowly clasped his hands together on his lap.

“If... if you want to,” he acceded with a little hesitation. Kirk tried in vain to hide the slow grin that was starting to stretch his lips.

His movements were crisp and efficient, when he removed his golden tunic, putting his well toned body on display before the Vulcan.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked with a low voice, when he saw Spock’s eyes flick back and forth between Kirk’s muscled pectorals and some point just off to the left. Spock slowly shook his head in mute negation.

Kirk brought his right hand up, placing it over his chest, rubbing the skin that was just the slightest bit moist as a reaction to the hot temperature in the room as well to his increasingly faster beating heart. He watched Spock intently, while he slowly let his fingers drift to one of his own nipples, slowly circling it with his thumb.

His eyes closed and his head fell back, when an electrical charge surged through his body.

“You know, Spock... I thought nearly constantly of you in the past month...” he said, hissing slightly, when he scraped his nail ever so gently over the sensitive peak. His other hand was starting to rub lazy circles above the thickly muscled stomach; fingers dipping every now and again into his belly button.

“You... have,” Spock said; his voice sounded breathless and when Kirk opened his eyes just the fraction of a second in order to peek towards his Vulcan First Officer, he could behold the sight of Spock, pupils blown wide, fisting his hands into the fabric of his regulation black trousers, while clearly transfixed of the display before him.

“Yes... oh yes, I have,” Kirk murmured and arched his back, when he pinched the sensitive nub, before switching to the other one and starting the whole process over again. His voice sounded distinctly hoarse, when he said, “I have imagined how it must feel to have your naked body against mine, Spock. You feel so good beneath those clothes, did you know that? I’d never have thought that...” Slight moan upon pinching his nipple, “... that I would so thoroughly enjoy the hard planes of a male body, but... God, you are exquisite.”

He forced his eyes open in order to look again at Spock. The cheeks of the other man were suffused with a green tinge and his lips were slightly open and glistening as if he had licked them. Kirk moaned.

“So fucking exquisite. Damn...That tongue of yours. It drives me insane to imagine how that sharp tip would feel on my body... licking my nipples...”

As if to somehow showcase it, he rubbed hard with the calloused pad of his thumb across the sensitised flesh and arched off the couch again. The electrical surges were nearly constant now, shooting straight to his cock that was tenting his trousers in obvious arousal.

“May I...?” he asked, his heart pounding in his chest, when he laid his hands upon the fastenings of his trousers. Spock seemed to have lost the ability to speak. He only nodded, his eyes still fixed upon Kirk’s chest, while the blush started to spread to the tips of his ears.

It only needed a few efficient movements, before Kirk's smooth dick sprang into his hand. He hooked the elastic band of his regulation briefs under his heavy, aching balls and encased the throbbing, turgid length loosely in his fist.

“Everything all right?” he asked throatily, still watching the Vulcan. Gentle, soft eyes were flickering every now and again towards his crotch; never lingering for long and lowering towards the expanse of couch separating them. Spock was panting as heavily as he was and he could see a distinct bulge in the black fabric of Spock’s trousers. Very encouraging.

“You may look, you know,” he murmured, while lovingly tugging at the thick length in his hand, rubbing his thumb slowly across his glans.

And – would you know it – Spock actually bit his bottom lip, as he shyly raised his gaze, fixing the dilated, dark eyes upon the human shaft and feasting on the debauched picture Kirk made; shamelessly pleasuring himself in front of the Vulcan.

“And I think about how it would feel to be encased by your heat and warmth...” Kirk took his earlier monologue up again. He grimaced, when his cock gave a longing throb and twitched in the tight confines of his hand.

“God, it has to be heaven to be buried inside you... Feel you twitch around me...” the human moaned, his hand starting up a faster rhythm. He swirled the clear fluid gathering at the engorged head with his thumb, lazily spreading it across the hot, silky skin and making his cock glisten enticingly.

“And sometimes I wonder how it’d feel to have _you_ buried in _me_ ,” he croaked and barked a short, sharp laugh, pressing his cock into his hand, while almost sobbing in lust, “Can you believe it? I? Asking myself how it would feel to have a cock buried in _my_ ass?”

And that was, when he heard it; a repressed, tiny moan coming right from the direction of the Vulcan. It was like music to his ears; hearing that velvety voice in passion.

Kirk’s eyes snapped open and he beheld the single most beautiful picture he had seen up until now: Spock slouching back, bracing his shoulders against the backrest of the couch, one hand shoved under his blue science shirt, clearly playing with his nipples, while the other was wrapped around...

‘My God...’

... his magnificent shaft that was rising out of his open trousers like a proud pole of ivory. The alien head with its double ridges was flushed a verdant green and it glistened from the juices that were trickling constantly out of the slit at the top.

The slender hand wrapped around the shaft, set a fast rhythm that Kirk was unintentionally mimicking.

“Yes... yesss Spock. God, you are perfect. Perfect. So perfect,” Kirk moaned it like a mantra; he could simply not take his eyes off of the vision before him; never had he seen Spock become this undone. It was intoxicating.

He cradled his balls with the hand currently not gripping his cock in a death choke and started rubbing them. A wicked grin spread across his face.

“Take your balls, Spock. Like me,” he rasped and moaned, when vulnerable chocolate brown eyes opened, fixing trustingly on his, while Spock hesitatingly drew his hand from beneath his shirt and slowly did as he was told.

“Yess... rub them, won’t you?”

Kirk idly wondered if he would get a stroke right here and now, when he watched those delicate, pale hands handling the heavy sack and large penis; Spock, with the deadly efficiency of a Vulcan Scientist started mimicking Kirk’s movements in perfect precision. A deep rumbling moan that sounded like a mix between a growl and a purr, emanated from Spock’s throat and caused an electrical shiver to race down Kirk’s spine and settle at the small of his back.

“That’s right. Oh yes... waited so long for this,” Kirk sobbed, arching his back again and squeezing his churning testicles. He could feel them starting to draw up to his body and his legs fell open as wide as his trousers would let him.

“I’m nearly there, Spock. I’m nearly there. Are you too? Do you feel it? God, Spock...” The Captain said frantically, his hand practically flying over his pulsing erection, spreading the pre-seminal fluid that had gathered at the head across his aching shaft.

“Yes...” It was the first thing Spock had said, since allowing Kirk to remove his shirt and it was the tremor in the deep voice, the utter longing in it, that finally tipped him over the edge.

A hoarse cry ripped out of his throat, while his hips were undulating in time with the spurts of creamy fluid that were coating his abdomen as well as his hands.

He had to force his eyes open in his coital bliss, though, when he heard the strangled moan at his side. Spock was nearly doubled over, one hand gripping his cock so hard that it nearly looked painful, the other one not longer curled around his testicles that were dusted with fine, black hair; instead it was fisted inside the edge of the couch.

Kirk’s mouth went dry, when he witnessed spurt after spurt of thick semen being shot out of the flared head, coating the blue tunic Spock wore in messy, sticky stripes.

For long moments afterwards, there was only the hard breathing of the two men to be heard. When Kirk chanced a glance towards Spock, he saw a wondrous but distinctly elated gleam in the dark depths. His lips slowly spread into a cocky, but affectionate grin.

‘So it is not impossible after all...’ he thought, while gingerly sliding towards the Vulcan and throwing one arm that felt like a overcooked noodle across his shoulders.

 

Later, when they were lying in bed together, comfortably tucked against one another – they could find the perfect position now as easily as two well trained dancers – Spock murmured into one delicately rounded ear, “How did you know, what to do?”

There were a few moments of silence, before Jim murmured back, “I knew it all the time; I just didn’t realize it. I think I just needed the right... push in order to finally pull my thumbs out of my arse.”

Spock sighed; he didn’t want to argue right now about the illogicality of _that_ statement. Instead he said, “What was this ‘right push’?”

“Princess Klena.”

One silky, black eyebrow drew upwards.

“Oh?”

“She threw herself at me, while I was in Observation Deck 4. I had her sitting on me – practically lap-dancing, you know? And she was smelling so nice and everything, but...”

“But?” Spock didn’t know what he felt at that odd revelation of his friend... and lover. A slight shiver ran down his spine.

“I just couldn’t. I suddenly realized how utterly _wrong_ everything felt. She simply was not... you. So I left her standing there and came right back here.”

The words were spoken quietly, but with a conviction that made all sorts of curious things to Spock’s stomach. The Vulcan tightened his grip around Jim and pressed a kiss into the soft, blonde hair.

 

.oO Day 31 of the journey to Triton II Oo.

 

Jim’s quiet confession simply would not leave Spock alone. The Vulcan was not sure if the man himself did realize it, but the fact, that James T. Kirk had shunned a beautiful woman in favour for the Vulcan, was a very big event, indeed.

Spock was contemplating ever since how he could repay Jim for his kindness. How he could give him back even a fraction of what the human had given him in the months prior and especially the last one. When the idea came to him at last, he had to carefully plan how it was supposed to go down; it wouldn’t do to let it end in a disaster yet again.

 

.oO Day 35 of the journey to Triton II Oo.

 

Kirk was every now and again peeking above the PADD he was currently perusing and looking over toward his Vulcan that was behaving rather oddly the past couple of days. He seemed strangely... twitchy, for lack of a better term.

He never had seen Spock this nervous. The Vulcan was at the moment trying – yet again – to force his fingers into some semblance of submission, but was failing – yet again.

Golden eyebrows raised, when Spock blew out a breath that was clearly annoyed and carefully lay the harp beside himself, throwing a glance towards Kirk.

The human quickly pretended to have read the report, while his eyebrows drew together in contemplation. What was _up_ with the Vulcan? Shouldn’t he be currently still riding the high together with Kirk? The magnificent orgasm from one week prior still made him grin just by thinking of it. It didn’t even matter, that they since hadn’t engaged in something similar.

“Jim...” Spock said suddenly with that quiet baritone that seemed to ensnare Kirk with such ease. The human raised his head.

“Hm?”

“Would you... come to bed with me?” Large, dark eyes were fixing him with an intense stare. Kirk blinked slightly, gazing over towards the clock.

“Eh? It is only 2100, Spock...”

“Still; will you lie down with me?” came the reply, while the vulnerable eyes were averted and fixed themselves on a point just left to Kirk’s head. The Captain slowly leaned back in his chair, contemplating the Vulcan with a furrowed brow, until he slightly shrugged.

“If you want to...” he murmured dubiously, slowly getting up from his chair and walking over to his sleeping area in order to fetch his pyjama. He had no idea what Spock was getting at, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this. Something very clearly was gnawing at the Vulcan and it was time that he spilled the beans.

Just as Kirk wanted to slip into his pyjama top, however, a hotter-than-human hand stopped him with a gentle touch at his shoulder.

“Leave it...” murmured Spock into his ear. All the little hair at the back of Kirk’s neck stood up instantly at the sudden proximity of the other man.

“Why...?” he asked, slowly turning around. His hazel eyes went wide, when he saw that Spock, too, was only wearing the dark pyjama bottoms, leaving his lean, muscled torso free for the eager inspection of the Captain.

A hot burn started to spread in Kirk’s stomach and he had to lick his lips that were all of a sudden very dry.

“You won’t need it,” murmured Spock. The Vulcan looked nervous and twitchy – and as magnificent as a colt. Kirk’s eyes raked over the black fur covering the pectorals of the other man, down the treasure path that bisected Spock’s flat stomach and disappeared into the drawstring of his trousers.

“Spock...?” Kirk asked, the hopeful, disbelieving question evident in his voice. The Vulcan swallowed heavily, taking the calloused human hand in his and slowly walking backwards towards the narrow bunk.

“Jim, please don’t talk right now. It is difficult enough, as it is,” Spock intoned, his deep voice even more serious than usual; it was thick with a mixture of arousal and fear that tore straight through the Captain, who nodded apprehensively, watching Spock intently.

The Vulcan stopped, when he felt the edge of the bed in his knees and drew the man towards him, pressing their chests against one another.

They moaned when their bare chests made contact for the first time. Kirk’s eyes closed involuntarily at the feeling of the soft fur that was scratching delectable against the smooth skin covering his thick muscles.

‘Never would’ve thought how amazing...’ The thought remained unfinished for Spock chose that moment to bend his head down low and kiss Kirk with an intensive precision that made Kirk’s toes curl in the thick rug under his bare feet.

His lips opened eagerly for the moist, alien tongue, that was lapping inside his mouth, drawing his own tongue out and gently twining itself around.

Kirk raised his arms, curling them around the slender waist of Spock, drawing him nearer. Spock, however, broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together.

“If this is to happen, Jim, you need to follow my instructions,” Spock said, voice husky and trembling; eyes huge and anxious in the pale face. Kirk slowly nodded, watching as Spock turned them around and pressed the human down on the bed.

“Try not to move too much, please. I... want to control what is happening. And I don’t want to lie beneath you,” Spock said silently, kneeling next to the human, who was bracing himself on his elbows, intently watching the Vulcan. Golden eyebrows slowly drew together, watching the shy creature next to him intently.

He could not say that he understood entirely these instructions, but he was willing to try and go along with them; he just couldn’t ignore the frantic pleading of his dick that was already half hard. So he slowly nodded.

Spock let his eyes slowly roam across the expanse of golden, muscled torso in front of him and while the Vulcan looked his fill, Kirk did the same; totally absorbed in the perfect lines of that toned, slender body. Next to Kirk’s thick muscles Spock was looking almost delicate; a fact that was even more fascinating for the human as he knew the Vulcan was easily four times stronger than he.

He was startled out of his silent reverie by Spock slowly rising from the bed and putting his pale, long hands to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

Kirk’s mouth went as dry as a desert, while his cock made a sudden upwards surge, clearly twitching beneath the loose fabric. His hopeful eyes were alternatively watching Spock’s face and his hands; he almost didn’t dare to believe what was happening, as the Vulcan – cheeks and ear tips flushed a delicate green – pushed the loose fabric down his slender hips and stepped out of it, silently standing in front of his lover in order to give him time to look at him.

Kirk’s lips opened into a silent moan, as he slowly beheld the perfection that was his First Officer. Who would have thought _this_ was lying beneath the Starfleet-issued regulation uniform? Endless, long runner’s legs with a lean musculature; the impressive shaft that was starting to rise out of a nest of thick, silky looking black fur. Kirk’s fingers twitched in his curiosity to explore the alien texture; it really didn’t look as coarse as human pubic hair.

His gaze wandered further over slightly protruding hipbones and the dipping line of a slim waist.

‘By God, but you’re beautiful...’ Kirk thought longingly, biting his lower lip in order to keep himself from speaking the thought out aloud. It wouldn’t do to embarrass the gentle creature even further.

Nonetheless, he could not withhold his moan when Spock bent down towards him, hooking his hot fingers into the waistband of his own pyjama bottoms and efficiently divesting him of the unnecessary fabric, after Kirk eagerly raised his hips towards him in order to help the alien.

Kirk slid further up the narrow bed, when Spock crawled onto it, in order to make room for the tall alien, until he was half sitting, his broad shoulders braced on the headboard and an uncertain Vulcan gingerly straddling his thighs.

Hazel eyes locked together with chocolate brown ones and for a few endless seconds both men just sat there, marvelling at how long they had come until this moment.

Their breathing slowed and got deeper; inhaling the scent of the other body. Kirk wanted to touch the slim Vulcan. He wanted to touch him so badly...!

But the instructions had been rather clear in that regard, so he just fisted his hands slowly in the bedding next to his hip.

He thought his heart would explode, when Spock finally slowly bent his head towards Kirk’s chest.

“I believe in our last encounter you mentioned something about my... tongue, did you not?” he whispered; hot breath ghosting over sensitive skin, caressing the nipple that was already eagerly rising in anticipation.

Kirk’s eyes rolled back into his head, when the pointed, devilish tip of the Vulcan tongue touched the hardened nub, circling it a few times, before lapping at it with short, kittenish licks.

“Gooood...” Kirk moaned breathily, his head falling back against the headboard, while the Vulcan brought one hand up towards the neglected nipple and playing with it, until he thought the first one appropriately chastised and switched towards the other one, starting the delicate seduction all over again; coaxing the tender flesh into a nearly agonizing peak and soothing the throbbing with massaging swipes of the hot, alien tongue.

Spock slightly wiggled on his place on Kirk’s thighs, inching forwards every so often, until the leaking tip of his phallus slightly grazed the heavy balls of his commanding Officer.

Kirk nearly jack-knifed of the bed and choked back a longing moan. This hot, hard flesh against his own... never had he thought... _never_...

A low, growling sound was constantly streaming out of the depths of Spocks chest now, vibrating into Kirk’s very being, while the Vulcan very carefully sidled upwards and fitted their erections together.

“J-Jim...” Spock moaned, helplessly and without any finesse thrusting against his lover; their cocks slipping against each other in a delectable friction that was not nearly enough.

Kirk was panting with an open, glistening mouth, reciprocating the hot kisses Spock was bestowing upon him. The long, slender hands were lying upon broad shoulders, gripping them for dear life, while his inexperienced hips were rutting against the other man and his tongue was licking into the open, inviting mouth.

Deep, guttural groans were being wrenched out of the men, their emotions absorbed and rebounded in the double by each other, drawing them higher and higher in their need.

All of a sudden, however, Spock pried himself away from Kirk, stopping his motions altogether and just staring at the human, while panting like an animal in heat.

‘Please don’t stop... not now... Oh please, Spock, don’t do this to me...’ Kirk thought frantically, gripping the sheets of the bed so hard that his joints were starting to protest. He nearly sobbed, when Spock leaned away from him, towards his bedside table.

He could not leave him now that his testicles were a hot mess of churning, insatiable desire and his cock was pulsing, steadily leaking clear pre-cum that was sluggishly sliding down his shaft...

Spock did not leave him.

He only retrieved something from the upper drawer of the bedside table, prying Kirk’s right hand loose from the bedding and pressing a tube inside his open palm.

“Wha...” Kirk mumbled, trying to fix his bleary eyes onto the tube and flushing red hot, when he realized it for what it was; lube.

“I thought it would be needed...” Spock said quietly, the green of his flush slowly spreading down his neck to is shoulders.

The thought of Spock standing at one of the medical replicators and punching in the combination for lube – with the sole intent of bedding his Captain, no less – was so intoxicating, that Kirk’s eyes rolled back into his head for a second.

Had Spock been flushed with embarrassment like he was now?

“Jim?” came the uncertain, deep voice. “Don’t you want to...”

“Oh yes... yes I want to. Damn, and _how_ I want to...” Kirk muttered, grinning at Spock like a mad man and popping the cap of the tube open.

“May I touch you?” he asked silently, receiving a sardonic eyebrow in return.

“I thought it impossible to achieve what we are about to do, without any touching...”

“Cheeky Vulcan...” Kirk murmured, while squeezing a good amount of the lube onto the fingers of his right hand. He let the tube fall down on the bed next to them and carefully wound his left arm around Spocks waist, drawing the upright kneeling man closer towards him.

The flushed, verdant cock of his companion, brushed against the smooth skin of his pectorals; he could smell the spicy scent of Spock’s arousal and closed his eyes slowly, savouring it for a moment.

“Jim...” Spock whispered slightly, his voice trembling. Kirk slowly let his head fall back against the headboard and opened his eyes again, locking gazes with Spock. The Vulcan slowly entwined his long, slender fingers in the thick, golden hair of his lover in order to find purchase _somewhere_.

His eyes were huge and vulnerable, when the warm, calloused hand of Kirk gently gripped his left buttock, slicked fingers gliding into the cleft and slightly running up and down.

He could feel the shudder going through the lean body, when he delved between the firm globes, seeking and finding that hidden entrance that had been so abysmally abused.

A tight sob forced its way out of Spock’s throat, while soft, brown eyes clenched tightly shut.

“Shhh...” Kirk soothed, while slick fingers circled the trembling, clenching pucker.

“Want to stop here?” he asked silently, his voice low and husky. He could see the distinct flagging of Spock’s erection and felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Spock determinedly shook his head.

“No. It’s.. it’s all right. I only need to accustom myself to the... feeling. Please proceed,” came the trembling baritone back.

Kirk sighed slightly. Spock was as stubborn as he was. A wry smile tucked at the corners of his mouth and he strained upwards in order to nuzzle against the silken fur on Spock’s chest; it really was as soft, as it looked; it felt like the pelt of a cat.

With the first lick of his tongue against green flushed nipples, the first part of his pointer finger eased himself inside the tight passage...

 

It took a long time; coaxing Spock down from his anxiety and fear, until he was calm enough to tentatively accept the soft brushing of lips against his sensitive nubs or the sweet friction of a cheek against the hair on his chest. The intrusion of the fingers, at first nearly agonizing though so very tentatively done, slowly but surely morphed into something akin to... longing.

When Kirk’s calloused fingers graced a point inside him he never had wasted a thought to, a silent moan was forced out of his throat and Spock’s hips started carefully undulating upon the intruding digits.

The Captain was very thorough in his preparation of the tender, tight orifice; when he finally pulled his fingers back with a wet squelch, his hand as well as Spock’s crevice were thoroughly glistening from the generous amount of lube the Captain had used.

“You ready?” he asked, staring into the soft, brown depths of Spock’s eyes. The Vulcan’s lips, swollen and green tinged from the long, deep kisses they had been exchanging, were open and panting. He slowly unwound his fingers from Kirk’s hair and brought his hands down upon the broad, golden shoulders, tentatively nodding.

“You go as fast or slow as you want...” Kirk murmured, while leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Spock’s collarbone. He reached down, encircling his throbbing erection with his fist; it gave an almost painful jerk, that made Kirk drew his breath sharply in.

He held himself at the right angle, while the man on his lap slowly but surely brought himself down upon him – impaling himself on the thick, hard length.

Every now and again the Vulcan hesitated, his forehead pressed intimately against Kirk’s, his eyes tightly shut. Kirk could see tears glistening at the corners of the eyes, trapped in the long lashes, while the hot, tight channel twitched spasmodically around his angrily pulsating erection.

A tight moan forced its way out of his throat and he carefully curled his arms around Spock, murmuring reassuring nonsense.

 

When Spock was finally seated in his lap, Kirk thought, that he could happily die right then and there. The hotness engulfing his shaft was pure, molten heaven and the delectable prickling at the back of his head told him that the Vulcan slowly but surely caught on to the positive waves of euphoria radiating from his bed mate.

However, he quickly withdrew the notion again, when Spock tentatively started rocking.

“Holy hell...” Kirk moaned, his head falling back, his mouth opened wide in order for him to draw enough breath into his lungs.

It was an achingly slow climb; soft rolling of hips, tentative rising and falling, gentle pressure of long, slender hands that were bracing themselves on his pectorals until...

Spock found _that_ spot again. That sweet spot that caused an instant heat to explode inside his belly that was spreading fast throughout his body.

A long, drawn out moan was ripped from him and he started moving faster, holding that sweet angle that allowed him to precisely rub the thick head of Kirk’s erection against that pleasure spot; nerve endings in his rectum were starting to ignite in a most pleasurable way and his erection – up until now only half full – came back with a vengeance, causing the Vulcan to whimper slightly in his need.

Kirk grinned like a maniac, while latching his mouth onto one creamy shoulder.

‘Finally...’

 

Hot sliding of skin against skin; wet breath mingling between open, panting lips; moist tongues lazily rubbing against one another; a ring of muscle twitching every now and again, nervously fluttering against the thick, hot rod embedded inside the slender body.

Kirk’s climax was starting to build. He curled his hand around Spock’s twitching shaft, that was weeping copious amounts of pre-cum onto his belly; his other hand lovingly cradled heavy, low hanging testicles that were covered with the same, silken fur as the rest of Spock’s body. He felt the firm orbs in his hands starting to draw up and knew that Spock was just as close as he.

‘Now or never...’ he thought sluggishly and allowed his hips to do what they had wanted the whole time: rock up into the delectable friction the Vulcan was so innocently and clumsily providing with the slightly uneducated rolling of his hips.

Spock emitted a low, keening sound, when he felt the reciprocation of his mate.

It didn’t last long until hot, creamy semen was released with hoarse, incredulous shouts.

 

They were clinging to one another, panting and exhausted. Kirk wrapped his hands around the Vulcan, slowly rocking him and planting soft kisses all over the pointed ears, while his slowly shrinking penis slipped out of the well-loved orifice.

 

Somehow Spock had managed to get up and bring them some towels in order to clean themselves. They didn’t say anything. However, the atmosphere was distinctly satiated and full of tender warmth. When they snuggled at last up together, it was the most natural thing in the world for the human to press his lips intimately against the shell of one delicately pointed ear and whisper, “I love you.”

Spock did not reply, but the arms tightening around him in an almost crushing embrace were enough. They slept.

 

When Kirk was awoken he could not tell what time it was. He felt disoriented and his body was heavy with the languid tranquillity it always had after a bout of great sex.

He wondered why he was awake, until he heard again what must have eased him out of his sleep: the gentle, melodic sound of distinct, clear tones. His mouth fell open slightly in astonishment when he slowly crept out of the bed – he was alone in there – and padded around the divide of the sleeping alcove in order to fix his eyes upon his Vulcan.

Sitting gloriously nude upon the slightly more comfortable couch of the Captain’s quarters, his earlier abandoned harp on his lap and playing with an ease that spoke of all the days prior to the attack of the Andorians.

Kirk’s mouth went dry, when he watched the long, slender hands move fluently and full of grace across the strings, plucking at them with a gentle care that was reminiscent of how he had touched his lover only a few hours prior.

When the song faded and Spock opened his eyes, Kirk’s lips slowly started to stretch themselves into a broad grin.

And how could they not? Spock’s eyes; these soft, gentle, deep, soulful brown eyes, were alight with elation and happiness and love; for him.

There was still a long road ahead of them, but Kirk knew in that moment that they would overcome everything; they were, after all, the best team Starfleet ever had.

 

.oO EPILOGUE Oo.

 

Kirk was patiently waiting in front of the huge building his mate had disappeared into roughly one hour prior. The heat on Vulcan was as immense as always, but he was wearing light clothing and he was somewhat used to the extreme temperatures by now.

He was humming silently, while he sat on a bench across the street and perused the PADD in his lap that was holding the next orders from Starfleet. They obviously were no longer in disgrace, for the next mission sounded very intriguing indeed.

Finally the Enterprise was back on course and the feeling was immensely satisfying.

The Captain grinned slightly, when he felt the presence of Spock emerging from the house. In the last month he had started to attune himself to the curious presence the Vulcan held inside the back of his head. It was an entirely new feeling; but a welcome one.

He waited until Spock seated himself beside him and then shut off his PADD. He looked up into the eyes of the gentle creature next to him.

“Well? What did the healer say?” he inquired. Spock tilted his head slightly, his eyes avoiding the inquisitive stare of his mate.

Golden eyebrows shot up.

“Spock...?” he asked with a sinking feeling. The eyebrows of the Vulcan twitched slightly and Spock squared his shoulders.

“Well. It seems like what we share is no I’ki sa-kai bond, after all. At least no more,” he said quietly, gravely. Kirk felt like his stomach was plummeting through the ground.

“What do you mean? What is it then?”

Spock was silent for a few moments, turning his head away in contemplation and then sighing deeply, while clasping his hands neatly together in his lap.

“It _is_ a bond. Just not what we have – that is, I – have thought.”

Kirk uttered a sound full of impatience and he growled, when he saw the mischief dance in Spock’s deep eyes, while the face of the Vulcan remained perfectly neutral.

A long, pale hand slowly seized his own, intertwining their fingers.

“Jim... Let me tell you about the bond called T’hy’la...”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----  
> ... Well! That was certainly a ride. :) I never had written such a long fic and actually finished it. Also I hadn't written in a few years and had just entered the fandom and never written so much in English and... it were first times all around XD so much fun!
> 
> Thank all of you very much, who have commented and read and just been awesome people in general :D
> 
> I _have_ started a sequel, called 'Weakness', though it currently is in hiatus until I finish other stories. You are, though, welcome to check it out over here: http://ksarchive.com/viewstory.php?sid=5105 &warning=1
> 
> It certainly has another feel to it than this one, because between writing 'Strength' and 'Weakness' I've become more confident in my writing ability (I hope XD). I definitely have to learn muuuuch much more, but I'm trying to improve.
> 
> Well...! there isn't much I can say after this point than: Thanks and have a very nice day
> 
> Cyberrat

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Choose One is to Lose Oneself](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412110) by [MyriadQuiddities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyriadQuiddities/pseuds/MyriadQuiddities)




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